« TED 


HEJD 

'.::        .\ES  SCR}-     -   !          SONS 


. 


. 


S^: 

'  " 


SANTA     CRUZ 


Gift  ot 

Lem  C.    Brown 


SANTA     CRUZ 


' 


BY 

FRANK  R.  STOCKTON 

ILLUSTRATED 
BY 


PUBt/TSHEB 

BY  , 

CHARLES  SCRIBNEPvS  SONS 


Copyright  1879,  1885  by 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 


Press  of  T.J.  Little  &  Co., 
Nos.  10  to  20  Astor  Place,  New  York. 


p. 


CHAPTER    I. 

PAGE 

Treating  of  a  Somewhat  Peculiar  'Dwelling-House . .       i 

CHAPTER    II. 
Treating  of  a  Somewhat  Peculiar  "Boarder 20 

CHAPTER  III. 
Treating  of  a  Somewhat  Peculiar  Servant-Girl 33 

CHAPTER   IV. 

Treating  of  a  Somewhat  Peculiar  'Burglar 49 

CHAPTER   V. 

Pomona  Produces  a  Partial  Revolution  in  Rudder 
Grange 6} 


iv  Contents. 

CHAPTER   VI. 

The  New  Rudder  Grange 


CHAPTER   VII. 
An  Unsuccessful  ^Broker  and  a  'Dog 


CHAPTER   VIII. 
Pomona  Again  ................................    705 

CHAPTER   IX. 
Camping  Out  ..................................   7/9 

CHAPTER  X. 
Wet  'Blankets  .................................    740 

CHAPTER  XI. 
The  hoarder's  Visit  ............................  154 

CHAPTER   XII. 
Lord  Edward  and  the  Tree-Man  .................   772 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
Pomona's  Novel  ...............................   194 

CHAPTER   XIV. 
Pomona  takes  a  Bridal  Trip  .................    ...   218 


Contents.  v 

CHAPTER   XV. 

PAGE 

In  which  two  New  Friends  disport  themselves  .......  252 

CHAPTER   XVI. 

In  which  an  Old  Friend  appears,  and  the  "Bridal 
Trip  takes  a  Fresh  Start  ........  '  ...........  252 

CHAPTER   XVII. 

In  which  we  take  a  Vacation  and  look  for  David 
Dutton  ...................................  264 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 
Our  Tavern  ........ 


CHAPTER    XIX. 
The  'Baby  at  Rudder  Grange  ....................  298 

CHAPTER   XX. 
The  Other  Baby  at  Rudder  Grange  ...............  5/7 


Title  Page i 

Vignette  Heading  to  Table  of  Contents  iii 

Tail-piece  to  Table  of  Contents v 

Vignette  Heading  to  List  of  Illustrations  vii 

Tail-piece  to  List  of  Illustrations  .....  xi 

Rudder  Grange Facing  page  i 

Vignette  Half  Title  and  Initial  Letter  i 

The  Prototype  of  Rudder  Grange  .....  6 

//  was  not  very  easy  for  him  to  get  the  trunks  into  our 

new  home       .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         13 

Early  in  the  afternoon  our  furniture  arrived         .  15 

Milk  was  brought  to  its  daily  by  a  little  toddler  .         .         17 
Tail  Piece — Chapter  I.      .         .         .         .         .         .  19 

Vignette  Heading  and  Initial  Letter — Chapter  II.       .         20 
77/6'  boarder  making  the  deck  garden       .         .         .         .22 

/  ran  wildly  along  the  bank — /  hailed  each  passing 

vessel      .........         23 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  think?  "  he  yelled,  "  I  think  you 

are  a  darned  lunatic  / "      .         .         .         .         .         -25 


viii  List  of  Illustrations. 

PAGE 

My  sudden  entrance  startled  them        ....  28 

Tail  Piece— Chapter  II. 32 

Vignette  Heading  and  Initial  Letter — Chapter  HI.     .  33 
The  boarder  with  his  legs  dangling  down      .         .         .35 

11  Mrs.  Elaine!!!" 39 

She  had  one  of  those  mouths  that  look  exactly  like  a 

gash  in  the  face 42 

She  dug  so  vigorously  in  our  garden  that  she  brought 
up  pieces  of  the  deck  planking  with  every  shovel- 
ful .  44 

Tail  Piece— Chapter  III. 48 

Vignette  Heading  and  Initial — Chapter  IV.         .         .  49 

"  Do  as  much  as  breathe  and  I'1  II pull  the  trigger"         .  52 

"  Pomona"  said  /,  "  what  have  you  been  doing  V       .  55 

A  waiter  came  to  her  to  see  what  she  would  have  .        .  61 

Tail  Piece— Chapter  IV.        .        .        :        .        .         .  62 
Vignette  Heading  and  Initial — Chapter  V.     .         .        .63 

He  let  himself  down  to  the  gang  plank         ...  68 

Tail  Piece— Chapter  V. 73 

Vignette  Heading  and  Initial  Letter — Chapter  VI.     .  74 

"  Until  you  come  to  the  Ogre,"  said  the  boarder     .         .  76 
"  Her  head  might  have  rested  on  a  cushion  on  the  table 

very  comfortably "  .         .         .         .         .         .         .  79 

I  weeded  and  hoed,  working  early  in  the  morning .         .  87 

Tail  Piece— Chapter  VI. 90 

Vignette  Heading  and  Initial— Chapter  VII.  .         .91 

The  unsuccessful  broker 92 

The  boy  and  I  carried  him  to  the  wagon         .        .         .95 


List  of  Illustrations.  ix 

PAGE 

He  was  mainly  bloodhound,  shaded  with  wolf-dog  and 

mastiff 98 

His  black  lips  drew  back  from  his  mighty  teeth,  he  gave 

a  savage  bark  and  sprang  at  me     .         .         .         .   100 

Tail  Piece— Chapter  VI 7. 104 

Vignette  Heading  and  Initial  Letter— Chapter  VI1L  .  105 
"  '  Foi  led  again,'  muttered  the  marsh  man  ''  .  .  108 
Pomona  and  I  gently  drove  her  to  the  barn  .  .  .112 

Tail  Piece— Chapter  VII L 118 

Vignette  Heading  and  Initial  Letter — Chapter  IX.  .  1 19 
A  grassy  peninsula  formed  by  the  sudden  turn  of  a 

creek 122 

Old  John  helped  me  pitch  the  tent  .  .  .  .  124 
"  Give  him  the  butt!  Give  him  the  butt !  "  .  .  130 
I  finally  concluded  to  carry  it  home  as  it  was  .  .132 

Tail  Piece— Chapter  IX. 139 

Vignette  Heading  and  Initial  Letter — Chapter  X.  .  .  140 
In  the  afternoon  I  dressed  myself  up  in  waterproof  coat, 

boots,  and  hat,  and  went  out  fishing      .         .         .       143 
"Hello .'"  said  he,   "you'd  better  be  careful  how  you 

go  popping  around  here  on  the  public  roads  "  .         .   149 
Tail  Piece — Chapter  X.          ...  152 
Vignette  Heading  and  Initial  Letter — Chapter  XL         .   153 
"  These   people,"  said  she,    "  have   entered  into    con- 
spiracy against  us" 161 

There   sat  our  old  boarder  splitting  sticks  with  the 

camp  hatchet 166 

We  found  Old  John  sitting  on  a  stump       .         .         .170 


List  of  Illustrations. 


PAGE 


Tail  Piece— Chapter  XL 171 

Vignette  Heading  and  Initial  Letter — Chapter  X1L\  .  172 

I  looked  up  at  the  man 179 

"  It  was  all  he  could  do  to  scoot  up  this  tree  "  .  .181 

"  This  one  is  a  tree-man  " 182 

"  Good  day  if  2  must — "  said  the  agent  .  .  .  .185 
I  saw  a  tramp  looking  up  at  the  mark  on  the  tree  .  190 

Tail  Piece— Chapter  XII. 193 

Vignette  Heading  and  Initial  Letter—  Chapter  XIII.  1 94 
A  Bull  dog  to  be  kept  in  the  house  at  night  .  .  .196 
"  In  the  very  outset  of  his  vil  li  a  ny,  I  sent  him  home 

with  a  empty  can "          ......       202 

"  A  base  boy  who  had  accompa  ni  ed  this  man  was 

bang  ing  on  the  fence  with  a  long  stick  '  .  .  .  205 
"  '  Take  that  dog  off  there,'  he  yelled  at  me  "  .  .  207 

Tail  Piece— Chapter  XIIL 217 

Vignette  Heading  and  Initial  Letter—  Chapter  XIV.  2 1 8 
"  He  walked  home  by  his  self  to  finish  his  chill"  .  .  222 
"  He  was  a  big  man  with  black  hair  an'  very  violent "  225 

Tail  Piece— Chapter  XIV. 231 

Vignette  Heading  and  Initial  Letter — Chapter  XV.  .  232 
"  They  stops  when  they  sees  me,  an'  the  lady  she  bows 

and  says  '  Good  mornin"  '  .....  234 
"  '  /  mean  jis  what  I  say'  says  she,  an'  she  locked  the 

gate"  .  .  237 

"  '  Hello"  says  he,  '  look  a-there  '" 243 

"  He  says  he  can't  sleep  in  a  bed  as  big  as  that  "  ,  249 
Tail  Piece— Chapter  XV. 251 


List  of  Illustrations.  xi 


PAGI 


Vignette  Heading  and  Initial  Letter—  Chapter  X  VI.    .       252 
"  The  Judge  a-standiri  at  the  Court-room  door"    .        .  261 
Tail  Piece— Chapter  XVI.       ....    .  .         .       263 

Vignette  Heading  and  Initial  Letter— Chapter  XVII.  264 
She  was  a  plain,  coarsely-dressed  woman,  with  an 

apron  full  of  chips  and  kindling  wood  .         .        .  270 

Tail  Piece— Chapter  XVII. 277 

Vignette  Heading  and  Initial  Letter— Chapter  XVIII.  278 
"This  is  a  sample  supper— if  you  order  a  supper  like 

it,  one  will  be  served  to  you  in  two  weeks  "  .  .  292 
"  Tve  only  got  one  passenger,  an'  he's  on  top"  .  .  297 
Vignette  Heading  and  Initial  Letter—  Chapter  XIX.  298 
"  They're  tweens  "........  3°7 

Tail  Piece— Chapter  XIX. 310 

Heading  and  Initial  Letter — Chapter  XX.  .  .  .311 
"  Don't  he  look  nice?  "  said  Eup hernia  .  .  .  319 
Tail  Piece— Chapter  XX. 322 


CHAPTER   I. 


Treating  of  a  Somewhat  Peculiar  ^Dwelling-House. 

OR  some  months  after  our  mar- 
riage, Euphemia  and  I  boarded. 
But  we  did  not  like  it.  Indeed, 
there  was  no  reason  why  we 
should  like  it.  Euphemia  said 
that  she  never  felt  at  home  ex- 
cept when  she  was  out,  which 
feeling,  indicating  an  excessively  unphilosophic  state 
of  mind,  was  enough  to  make  me  desire  to  have  a 
home  of  my  own,  where,  except  upon  rare  and  excep- 
tional occasions,  my  wife  would  never  care  to  go  out. 
If  you  want  to  rent  a  house,  there  are  three 
ways  to  find  one.  One  way  is  to  advertise,  another 
is  to  read  the  advertisements  of  other  people,  and 
a  third  method  is  to  apply  to  an  agent.  But  none  of 
these  plans  are  worth  anything.  The  proper  way 
is  to  know  some  one  who  will  tell  you  of  a  house 
which  will  exactly  suit  you.  Euphemia  and  I  thor- 
oughly investigated  this  matter,  and  I  know  that 
what  I  say  is  a  fact. 

We  tried  all  the  plans.     When  we  advertised,  we 


2  Rudder  Grange. 

had  among  our  answers  about  a  dozen  attractive 
ones,  but  in  these,  although  everything  else  seemed 
to  suit,  the  amount  of  rent  was  not  named.  (None 
of  those  in  which  the  rent  was  named  would  do 
at  all.)  And  when  I  went  to  see  the  owners  or 
agents  of  these  suitable  houses,  they  asked  much 
higher  rents  than  those  mentioned  in  the  unavail- 
able answers — and  this,  notwithstanding  the  fact 
that  they  always  asserted  that  their  terms  were 
either  very  reasonable  or  else  greatly  reduced  on 
account  of  the  season  being  advanced,  it  now  being 
the  fifteenth  of  May. 

The  advertisements  of  other  people  did  not  serve 
any  better.  There  was  always  something  wrong 
about  the  houses  when  we  made  close  inquiries, 
and  the  trouble  was  generally  in  regard  to  the  rent. 
With  agents  we  had  a  little  better  fortune.  Eu- 
phemia  sometimes  went  with  me  on  my  expeditions 
to  real  estate  offices,  and  she  remarked  that  these 
offices  were  always  in  the  basement,  or  else  you  had 
to  go  up  to  them  in  an  elevator.  There  was  noth- 
ing between  these  extremes.  And  it  was  a  good 
deal  the  same  way,  she  said,  with  their  houses. 
They  were  all  very  low  indeed  in  price  and  quality, 
or  else  too  high. 

One  trouble  was  that  we  wanted  a  house  in  a 
country  place,  not  very  far  from  the  city,  and  near 
a  railroad  station  or  steamboat  landing.  We  also 
wanted  the  house  to  be  nicely  shaded  and  fully 


Rudder  Grange.  3 

furnished,  and  not  to  be  in  a  malarial  neighbor- 
hood, or  in  one  infested  by  mosquitoes. 

"  If  we  do  go  to  housekeeping,"  said  Euphemia, 
"  we  might  as  well  get  a  house  to  suit  us  while 
we  are  about  it.  Moving  is  more  expensive  than  a 
fire." 

There  was  one  man  who  offered  us  a  house  that 
almost  suited  us.  It  was  near  the  water,  had  rooms 
enough,  and  was  very  accessible  to  the  city.  The 
rent,  too,  was  quite  reasonable.  But  the  house  was 
unfurnished.  The  agent,  however,  did  not  think 
that  this  would  present  any  obstacle  to  our  taking 
it.  He  was  sure  that  the  owner  would  furnish 
it  if  we  paid  him  ten  per  cent,  on  the  value  of 
the  furniture.  We  agreed  that  if  the  landlord 
would  do  this  and  let  us  furnish  the  house  according 
to  the  plans  laid  down  in  a  book  which  Euphe- 
mia and  I  had  written  before  we  were  married,  and 
in  which  we  told  young  married  people  how  to 
furnish  a  house  and  what  it  would  cost  them,  that 
we  would  take  the  house.  But  unfortunately  this 
arrangement  did  not  suit  the  landlord,  although  he 
was  in  the  habit  of  furnishing  houses  for  tenants 
and  charging  them  ten  per  cent,  on  the  cost. 

I  saw  him  myself  and  talked  to  him  about  it. 

"  But  you  see,"  said  he,  when  I  had  shown  him 
our  list  of  articles  necessary  for  the  furnishing  of  a 
house,  "  it  would  not  pay  me  to  buy  all  these  things 
and  rent  them  out  to  you.  If  you  only  wanted 


4  Rudder  Grange. 

heavy  furniture,  which  would  last  for  years,  the  plan 
would  answer ;  but  you  want  everything.  I  believe 
the  small  conveniences  you  have  on  this  list  cost 
more  money  than  the  furniture  and  carpets." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  I.  "  We  are  not  so  very  particu- 
lar about  furniture  and  carpets,  but  these  little  con- 
veniences are  the  things  that  make  housekeeping 
pleasant  and — speaking  from  a  common-sense  point 
of  view — profitable." 

"  That  may  be,"  he  answered,  "  but  I  can't  afford 
to  make  matters  pleasant  and  profitable  for  you  in 
that  way.  Now,  then,  let  us  look  at  one  or  two  par- 
ticulars. Here,  on  your  list,  is  an  ice-pick  :  twenty- 
five  cents.  Now,  if  I  buy  that  ice-pick  and  rent  it 
to  you  at  two  and  a  half  cents  a  year,  I  shall  not  get 
my  money  back  unless  it  lasts  you  ten  years.  And 
even  then,  as  it  is  not  probable  that  I  can  sell  that 
ice-pick  after  you  have  used  it  for  ten  years,  I  shall 
have  made  nothing  at  all  by  my  bargain.  And 
there  are  other  things  in  that  list,  such  as  feather- 
dusters  and  lamp-chimneys,  that  couldn't  possibly 
last  ten  years.  Don't  you  see  my  position  ?  " 

I  saw  it.  We  did  not  get  that  furnished  house, 
and  Euphemia  was  greatly  disappointed. 

"  It  would  have  been  so  charming,"  she  said,  "  to 
have  taken  our  book  and  to  have  ordereb!  all  these 
things  at  the  stores,  one  after  another,  without  being 
obliged  to  ask  the  price." 

I  had  my  private  doubts  in  regard  to  this  matter 


Rudder  Grange.  5 

of  price.  I  am  afraid  that  Euphemia  generally  set 
down  the  lowest  price  and  the  best  things.  She  did 
not  mean  to  mislead,  and  her  plan  certainly  made  our 
book  attractive.  But  it  did  not  work  very  well  in 
practice.  We  have  a  friend  who  undertook  to  fur- 
nish her  house  by  our  book,  and  she  never  could  get 
the  things  as  cheap  as  we  had  them  quoted. 

"  But  you  see,"  said  Euphemia  to  her,  "  we  had 
to  put  them  down  at  the  lowest  prices,  because  the 
model  house  we  speak  of  in  the  book  is  to  be  en- 
tirely furnished  for  just  so  much." 

But,  in  spite  of  this  explanation,  the  lady  was  net 
satisfied. 

We  found  ourselves  obliged  to  give  up  the  idea 
of  a  furnished  house.  We  would  have  taken  an 
unfurnished  one  and  furnished  it  ourselves,  but  we 
had  not  money  enough.  We  were  very  much  afraid 
that  we  should  have  to  continue  to  board. 

It  was  now  getting  on  toward  summer,  at  least 
there  was  only  a  part  of  a  month  of  spring  left,  and 
whenever  I  could  get  away  from  my  business  Eu- 
phemia and  I  made  little  excursions  into  the  country 
round  about  the  city.  One  afternoon  we  went  up 
the  river,  and  there  we  saw  a  sight  that  transfixed 
us,  as  it  were.  On  the  bank,  a  mile  or  so  above  the 
city,  stood  a  canal-boat.  I  say  stood,  because  it  was 
so  firmly  imbedded  in  the  ground  by  the  riverside 
that  it  would  have  been  almost  as  impossible  to 
move  it  as  to  have  turned  the  Sphinx  around.  This 


6  Rudder  Grange. 

boat  we  soon  found  was  inhabited  by  an  oyster-man 
and  his  family.  The  boat  was  divided,  inside,  into 
rooms,  and  these  were  papered  and  painted  and 
nicely  furnished.  There  was  a  kitchen,  a  living- 
room,  a  parlor,  and  bedrooms.  There  were  all  sorts 
of  conveniences — carpets  on  the  floors,  pictures,  and 
everything— at  least  so  it  seemed  to  us,  to  make  a 


home  comfortable.  This  was  not  all  done  at  once, 
the  oyster-man  told  me.  They  had  lived  there  for 
years,  and  had  gradually  added  this  and  that  until 
the  place  was  as  we  saw  it.  He  had  an  oyster-bed 
out  in  the  river,  and  he  made  cider  in  the  winter,  but 
where  he  got  the  apples  I  do  not  know.  There  was 
really  no  reason  why  he  should  not  get  rich  in  time. 
We  went  all  over  that  house,  and  we  praised  every- 
thing so  much  that  the  oyster-man's  wife  was  de 


Rudder  Grange.  7 

lighted,  and  when  we  ordered  some  stewed  oysters 
afterward — eating  them  at  a  little  table  under  a  tree 
near  by — I  believe  that  she  picked  out  the  very 
largest  oysters  she  had,  to  stew  for  us.  When  we  had 
finished  our  supper  and  paid  for  it,  and  were  going 
down  to  take  our  little  boat  again — for  we  had 
rowed  up  the  river — Euphemia  stopped  and  looked 
around  her.  Then  she  clasped  her  hands  and  ex- 
claimed in  an  ecstatic  undertone  : 

"  We  must  have  a  canal-boat !  " 

And  she  never  swerved  from  that  determination. 

After  I  had  seriously  thought  over  the  matter,  I 
could  see  no  good  reason  against  adopting  this  plan. 
It  certainly  would  be  a  cheap  method  of  living,  and 
it  would  be  actual  housekeeping.  I  grew  more  and 
more  in  favor  of  it.  After  what  the  oyster-man  had 
done,  what  might  not  we  do  ?  He  had  never  written 
a  book  on  domestic  affairs,  nor,  in  all  probability, 
had  he  considered  them,  philosophically,  for  one 
moment  in  all  his  life. 

But  it  was  not  an  easy  thing  to  find  a  canal-boat. 
There  were  none  advertised  for  rent — at  least,  not 
for  housekeeping  purposes. 

We  made  many  inquiries  and  took  many  a  long 
walk  along  the  watercourses  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
city,  but  all  in  vain.  Of  course,  we  talked  a  great 
deal  about  our  project,  and  our  friends  became  greatly 
interested  in  it ;  and  of  course,  also,  they  gave  us  a 
great  deal  of  advice,  but  we  did  not  mind  that.  We 


8  Rudder  Grange. 

were  philosophical  enough  to  know  that  you  cannot 
have  fish  without  bones.  They  were  good  friends, 
and,  by  being  careful  in  regard  to  the  advice,  it  did 
not  interfere  with  our  comfort. 

We  were  beginning  to  be  discouraged — at  least, 
Euphemia  was.  Her  discouragement  is  like  water- 
cresses,  it  generally  comes  up  in  a  very  short  time 
after  she  shows  her  wishes.  But  then  it  withers 
away  rapidly,  which  is  a  comfort.  One  evening  we 
were  sitting,  rather  disconsolately,  in  our  room,  and 
I  was  reading  out  the  advertisements  of  country 
board  in  a  newspaper,  when  in  rushed  Dr.  Heare — 
one  of  our  old  friends.  He  was  so  full  of  something 
that  he  had  to  say  that  he  did  not  even  ask  us  how 
we  were.  In  fact,  he  did  not  appear  to  want  to 
know. 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,"  said  he,  "  I  have  found  the 
very  thing  you  want." 

"  A  canal-boat  ?  "  I  cried. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  a  canal-boat." 

"  Furnished  ?  "  asked  Euphemia,  her  eyes  glisten- 
ing. 

"  Well,  no,"  answered  the  doctor,  "  I  don't  think 
you  could  expect  that." 

"  But  we  can't  live  on  the  bare  floor,"  said  Euphe- 
mia ;  "  our  house  must  be  furnished." 

"  Well,  then,  I  suppose  this  won't  do,"  said  the 
doctor  ruefully,  "  for  there  isn't  so  much  as  a  boot- 
jack in  it.  It  has  most  things  that  are  necessary  for 


Rudder  Grange.  g 

a  boat,  but  it  hasn't  anything  that  you  could  call 
house-furniture  ;  but,  dear  me,  I  should  think  you 
could  furnish  it  very  cheaply  and  comfortably  out 
of  your  book." 

"  Very  true,"  said  Euphemia,  "  if  we  could  pick 
out  the  cheapest  things  and  then  get  some  folks  to 
buy  a  lot  of  the  books." 

"  We  could  begin  with  very  little,"  said  I,  trying 
hard  to  keep  calm. 

"Certainly,"  said  the  doctor;  "you  need  make  no 
more  rooms,  at  first,  than  you  could  furnish." 

"  Then  there  are  no  rooms,"  said  Euphemia. 

"  No,  there  is  nothing  but  one  vast  apartment  ex- 
tending from  stem  to  stern." 

"  Won't  it  be  glorious ! "  said  Euphemia  to  me. 
"  We  can  first  make  a  kitchen,  and  then  a  dining- 
room,  and  a  bedroom,  and  then  a  parlor — just  in  the 
order  in  which  our  book  says  they  ought  to  be  fur- 
nished." 

"  Glorious  !  "  I  cried,  no  longer  able  to  contain  my 
enthusiasm  ;  "  I  should  think  so.  Doctor,  where  is 
this  canal-boat  ?  " 

The  doctor  then  went  into  a  detailed  statement. 

The  boat  was  stranded  on  the  shore  of  the  Scolds- 
bury  River  not  far  below  Ginx's.  We  knew  where 
Ginx's  was,  because  we  had  spent  a  very  happy  day 
there  during  our  honeymoon. 

The  boat  was  a  good  one,  but  superannuated. 
That,  however,  did  not  interfere  with  its  usefulness 


io  Rudder  Grange. 

as  a  dwelling.  We  could  get  it — the  doctor  had  seen 
the  owner — for  a  small  sum  per  annum,  and  there  was 
positively  no  end  to  its  capabilities. 

We  sat  up  until  twenty  minutes  past  two  talking 
about  that  house.  We  ceased  to  call  it  a  boat  at 
about  a  quarter  of  eleven. 

The  next  day  I  rented  the  boat  and  paid  a  month's 
rent  in  advance.  Three  days  afterward  we  moved 
into  it. 

We  had  not  much  to  move,  which  was  a  comfort, 
looking  at  it  from  one  point  of  view.  A  carpenter 
had  put  up  two  partitions  in  it,  which  made  three 
rooms — a  kitchen,  a  dining-room,  and  a  very  long 
bedroom,  which  was  to  be  cut  up  into  a  parlor,  study, 
guest-chamber,  etc.,  as  soon  as  circumstances  should 
allow,  or  my  salary  should  be  raised.  Originally,  all 
the  doors  and  windows  were  in  the  roof,  so  to  speak, 
but  our  landlord  allowed  us  to  make  as  many  win- 
dows in  the  sides  of  the  boat  as  we  pleased,  provided 
we  gave  him  the  wood  we  cut  out.  It  saved  him 
trouble,  he  said,  but  I  did  not  understand  him  at  the 
time.  Accordingly,  the  carpenter  made  several  win- 
dows for  us,  and  put  in  glass  sashes,  which  opened 
on  hinges.  Our  furniture  did  not  amount  to  much 
at  first.  The  very  thought  of  living  in  this  indepen- 
dent, romantic  way  was  so  delightful,  Euphemia 
said,  that  furniture  seemed  a  mere  secondary  matter. 

We  were  obliged,  indeed,  to  give  up  the  idea  of 
following  the  plan  detailed  in  our  book,  because  we 


Rudder  Grange.  \  I 

had  not  the  sum  upon  which  the  furnishing  of  a 
small  house  was  therein  based. 

"  And  if  we  haven't  the  money,"  remarked 
Euphemia,  "  it  would  be  of  no  earthly  use  to  look 
at  the  book.  It  would  only  make  us  doubt  our  own 
calculations.  You  might  as  well  try  to  make  brick 
without  mortar,  as  the  children  of  Israel  did." 

"  I  could  do  that  myself,  my  dear,"  said  I,  "  but 
we  won't  discuss  that  subject  now.  We  will  buy 
just  what  we  absolutely  need,  and  then  work  up 
from  that." 

Acting  on  this  plan,  we  bought  first  a  small  stove, 
because  Euphemia  said  that  we  could  sleep  on  the 
floor,  if  it  were  necessary,  but  we  couldn't  make  a 
fire  on  the  floor — at  least,  not  often.  Then  we  got  a 
table  and  two  chairs.  The  next  thing  we  purchased 
was  some  hanging  shelves  for  our  books,  and  Euphe- 
mia suddenly  remembered  the  kitchen  utensils. 
These,  which  were  few,  with  some  crockery,  nearly 
brought  us  to  the  end  of  our  resources,  but  we  had 
enough  for  a  big  easy-chair  which  Euphemia  was 
determined  I  should  have,  because  I  really  needed  it 
when  I  came  home  at  night,  tired  by  my  long  day's 
work  at  the  office.  I  had  always  been  used  to  an 
easy-chair,  and  it  was  one  of  her  most  delightful 
dreams  to  see  me  in  one,  comfortably  smoking  my 
pipe  in  my  own  house,  after  eating  my  own  delicious 
little  supper  in  company  with  my  own  dear  wife. 
We  selected  the  chair,  and  were  about  to  order  the 


1 2  Rudder  Grange. 

things  sent  out  to  our  future  home,  when  I  happened 
to  think  that  we  had  no  bed.  I  called  Euphemia's 
attention  to  the  fact. 

She  was  thunderstruck. 

"  I  never  thought  of  that,"  she  said.  "  We  shall 
have  to  give  up  the  stove." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  I,  "  we  can't  do  that.  We  must 
give  up  the  easy-chair." 

"  Oh,  that  would  be  too  bad,"  said  she.  "  The 
house  would  seem  like  nothing  to  me  without  the 
chair  ! " 

"  But  we  must  do  without  it,  my  dear,"  said  I,  "  at 
least  for  a  time.  I  can  sit  out  on  deck  and  smoke 
in  the  evening,  you  know," 

"  Yes,"  said  Euphemia.  "  You  can  sit  on  the 
bulwarks  and  I  can  sit  by  you.  That  will  do 
very  well.  I'm  sure  I'm  glad  the  boat  has  bul- 
warks." 

So  we  resigned  the  easy-chair  and  bought  a  bed- 
stead and  some  very  plain  bedding.  The  bedstead 
was  what  is  sometimes  called  a  "  scissors-bed." 
We  could  shut  it  up  when  we  did  not  want  to  sleep 
in  it,  and  stand  it  against  the  wall. 

When  we  packed  up  our  trunks  and  left  the 
boarding-house  Euphemia  fairly  skipped  with  joy. 

We  went  down  to  Ginx's  in  the  first  boat,  having 
arranged  that  our  furniture  should  be  sent  to  us  in 
the  afternoon.  We  wanted  to  be  there  to  receive 
it.  The  trip  was  wildly  delirious.  The  air  was 


Rudder  Grange.  13 

charming,  the  sun  was  bright,  and  I  had  a  whole 
holiday.  When  we  reached  Ginx's  we  found  that 
the  best  way  to  get  our  trunks  and  ourselves  to  our 
house  was  to  take  a  carriage,  and  we  took  one.  I 
told  the  driver  to  drive  along  the  river  road  and  I 
would  tell  him  where  to  stop. 

When  we  reached  our  boat,  and  had  alighted,  I 
said  to  the  driver  : 

"  You  can  just  put  our  trunks  inside,  anywhere." 
The  man  looked  at  the  trunks  and  then  looked  at 
the  boat.     Afterward  he  looked  at  me. 

"  That  boat  ain't  goin'  anywhere,"  said  he. 
"  I    should    think   not,"    said    Euphemia.      "  We 
wouldn't  want  to  live  in  it  if  it  were." 

"  You  are  going  to  live  in  it  ?  "  said  the  man. 
"  Yes,"  said  Euphemia. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  the  man,  and 
he  took  our  trunks  on  board 
without  another  word. 

It  was  not  very  easy  for  him 
to  get  the  trunks  into  our  new 
home.  In  fact,  it  was  not  easy 
for  us  to  get  there  ourselves. 
There  was  a  gang-plank,  with 
a  rail  on  one  side  of  it,  which 
inclined  from  the  shore  to  the  deck  of  the  boat  at  an 
angle  of  forty-five  degrees,  and  when  the  man  had 
staggered  up  this  plank  with  the  trunks  (Euphemia 
said  I  ought  to  have  helped  him,  but  I  really 


14  Rudder  Grange. 

thought  that  it  would  be  better  for  one  person  to 
fall  off  the  plank  than  for  two  to  go  over  together), 
and  we  had  paid  him,  and  he  had  driven  away  in  a 
speechless  condition,  we  scrambled  up  and  stood 
upon  the  threshold,  or,  rather,  the  after-deck  of  our 
home. 

It  was  a  proud  moment.  Euphemia  glanced 
around,  her  eyes  full  of  happy  tears,  and  then  she 
took  my  arm  and  we  went  down  stairs — at  least,  we 
tried  to  go  down  in  that  fashion,  but  soon  found  it 
necessary  to  go  one  at  a  time.  We  wandered  over 
the  whole  extent  of  our  mansion  and  found  that  our 
carpenter  had  done  his  work  better  than  the  woman 
we  had  engaged  to  scrub  and  clean  the  house.  Some- 
thing akin  to  despair  must  have  seized  upon  her,  for 
Euphemia  declared  that  the  floors  looked  dirtier  than 
on  the  occasion  of  her  first  visit. 

But  that  did  not  discourage  us.  We  felt  sure  that 
we  should  get  it  clean  in  time. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  our  furniture  arrived,  to- 
gether with  the  other  things  we  had  bought,  and 
the  men  who  brought  them  over  from  the  steam- 
boat landing  had  the  merriest  faces  I  ever  noticed 
among  that  class  of  people.  Euphemia  said  it  was 
an  excellent  omen  to  have  such  cheerful  fellows 
come  to  us  on  the  very  first  day  of  our  housekeeping. 

Then  we  went  to  work.  I  put  up  the  stove,  which 
was  not  much  trouble,  as  there  was  a  place  all  ready 
in  the  deck  for  the  stove-pipe  to  be  run  through. 


Rudder  Grange.  15 

Euphemia  was  somewhat  surprised  at  the  absence  of 
a  chimney,  but  I  assured  her  that  canal-boats  were 
very  seldom  built  with  chimneys.  My  dear  little 
wife  bustled  about  and  arranged  the  pots  and  kettles 
on  nails  which  I  drove  into  the  kitchen  walls.  Then 
she  made  the  bed  in  the  bedroom,  and  I  hung  up  a 


looking  glass  and  a  few  little  pictures  which  we  had 
brought  in  our  trunks. 

Before  four  o'clock  our  house  was  in  order.  Then 
we  began  to  be  very  hungry. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Euphemia,  "  we  ought  to  have 
thought  about  bringing  something  to  cook." 


1 6  Rudder  Grange. 

"  That  is  very  true,"  said  I,  "  but  I  think  we  had 
better  walk  up  to  Ginx's  and  get  our  supper  to-night. 
You  see  we  are  so  tired  and  hungry." 

"  What !  "  cried  Euphemia,  "  go  to  a  hotel  the  very 
first  day  ?  I  think  it  would  be  dreadful !  Why,  I 
have  been  looking  forward  to  this  first  meal  with 
the  greatest  delight.  You  can  go  up  to  the  little 
shop  by  the  hotel  and  buy  some  things  and  I  will 
cook  them,  and  we  will  have  our  first  dear  little 
supper  here  all  alone  by  ourselves,  at  our  own  table 
and  in  our  own  house." 

So  this  was  determined  upon,  and  after  a  hasty 
counting  of  the  fund  I  had  reserved  for  moving  and 
kindred  expenses,  and  which  had  been  sorely  depleted 
during  the  day,  I  set  out,  and  in  about  an  hour  re- 
turned with  my  first  marketing. 

I  made  a  fire,  using  a  lot  of  chips  and  blocks  the 
carpenters  had  left,  and  Euphemia  cooked  the  sup- 
per, and  we  ate  it  from  our  little  table,  with  two 
large  towels  for  a  table-cloth. 

It  was  the  most  delightful  meal  I  have  ever  eaten  ! 

And  when  we  had  finished,  Euphemia  washed 
the  dishes  (the  thoughtful  creature  had  put  some 
water  on  the  stove  to  heat  for  the  purpose  while 
we  were  at  supper)  and  then  we  went  on  deck,  or  on 
the  piazza,  as  Euphemia  thought  we  had  better  call 
it,  and  there  we  had  our  smoke.  I  say  we,  for 
Euphemia  always  helps  me  to  smoke  by  sitting  by 
me,  and  she  seems  to  enjoy  it  as  much  as  I  do. 


Rudder  Grange.  17 

And  when  the  shades  of  evening  began  to  gather 
around  us,  I  hauled  in  the  gang-plank  (just  like  a 
delightful  old  draw-bridge,  Euphemia  said,  although 
I  hope  for  the  sake  of  our  ancestors  that  draw- 
bridges were  easier  to  haul  in)  and  went  to  bed. 

It  is  lucky  we  were  tired  and  wanted  to  go  to 
bed  early,  for  we  had  forgotten  all  about  lamps  or 
candles. 

For  the  next  week  we  were  two  busy  and  happy 
people.  I  rose  about  half-past  five  and  made  the 
fire — we  found  so  much  wood  on  the  shore  that  I 
thought  I  should  not  have  to  add  fuel  to  my  ex- 
penses— and  Euphemia  cooked  the  breakfast.  After 
this  I  went  to  a  well  belonging  to  a  cottage  near  by, 
where  we  had  arranged  for  water  privileges,  and  filled 
two  buckets  with  delicious  water 
and  carried  them  home  for  Euphe- 
mia's  use  through  the  day.  Then 
I  hurried  off  to  catch  the  train,  for, 

'f//M'ff  7l!W'/.  as  t^iere  was  a  station  near  Ginx's, 
I  ceased  to  patronize  the  steamboat, 
the  hours  of  which  were  not  con- 
venient. After  a  day  of  work  and 
pleasurable  anticipation  at  my  place 
of  business,  I  hastened  home,  generally  laden  with  a 
basket  of  provisions  and  various  household  necessi- 
ties. Milk  was  brought  to  us  daily  from  the  above- 
mentioned  cottage  by  a  little  toddler  who  seemed 
just  able  to  carry  the  small  tin  bucket  which  held  a 


1 8  Rudder  Grange. 

lacteal  pint.  If  the  urchin  had  been  the  child  of 
rich  parents,  Euphemia  sometimes  observed,  it  would 
have  been  in  its  nurse's  arms  ;  but  being  poor,  it 
was  scarcely  weaned  before  it  began  to  carry  milk 
around  to  other  people. 

After  I  reached  home,  came  supper  and  the  de- 
lightful evening  hours,  when  over  my  pipe  (I  had 
given  up  cigars  as  being  too  expensive  and  inappro- 
priate, and  had  taken  to  a  pipe  and  tobacco)  we 
talked  and  planned,  and  told  each  other  our  day's 
experiences. 

v  One  of  our  earliest  subjects  of  discussion  was  the 
name  of  our  homestead.  Euphemia  insisted  that  it 
should  have  a  name.  I  was  quite  willing,  but  we 
found  it  no  easy  matter  to  select  an  appropriate  title. 
I  proposed  a  number  of  appellations  intended  to 
suggest  its  character.  Among  these  were :  "  Safe 
Ashore,"  "  Firmly  Grounded,"  and  some  other  names 
of  that  style,  but  Euphemia  did  not  fancy  any  of 
them.  She  wanted  a  suitable  name,  of  course,  she 
said,  but  it  must  be  something  that  would  sound  like 
a  house  and  be  like  a  boat. 

"  Partitionville,"  she  objected  to,  and  "  Gang- 
plank Terrace,"  did  not  suit  her  because  it  suggested 
convicts  going  out  to  work,  which  naturally  was  un- 
pleasant. 

At  last,  after  days  of  talk  and  cogitation,  we  named 
our  house  "  Rudder  Grange." 

To  be  sure,  it  was  not  exactly  a  grange,  but  then 


Rudder  Grange.  ig 

it  had  such  an  enormous  rudder  that  the  justice  of 
that  part  of  the  title  seemed  to  overbalance  any 
little  inaccuracy  in  the  other  portion. 

But  we  did  not  spend  all  our  spare  time  in  talking. 
An  hour  or  two  every  evening  was  occupied  in  what 
we  called  "  fixing  up  the  house,"  and  gradually  the 
inside  of  our  abode  began  to  look  like  a  conventional 
dwelling.  We  put  matting  on  the  floors  and  cheap 
but  very  pretty  paper  on  the  walls.  We  added  now 
a  couple  of  chairs,  and  now  a  table  or  something  for 
the  kitchen.  Frequently,  especially  of  a  Sunday,  we 
had  company,  and  our  guests  were  always  charmed 
with  Euphemia's  charming  little  meals.  The  dear 
girl  loved  good  eating  so  much  that  she  could 
scarcely  fail  to  be  a  good  cook. 

We  worked  hard,  and  were  very  happy.  And  thus 
the  weeks  passed  on. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Treating  of  a  Somewhat  Peculiar  hoarder. 


THIS  delightful  way  of  living, 
~  only  one  thing  troubled  us — we 
didn't  save  any  money.  There 
were  so  many  little  things  that 
we  wanted,  and  so  many  little  things  that  were 
so  cheap,  that  I  spent  pretty  much  all  I  made,  and 
that  was  far  from  the  philosophical  plan  of  living 
that  I  wished  to  follow. 

We  talked  this  matter  over  a  great  deal  after  we 
had  lived  in  our  new  home  for  about  a  month,  and 
we  came  at  last  to  the  conclusion  that  we  would 
take  a  boarder. 

We  had  no  trouble  in  getting  a  boarder,  for  we 
had  a  friend,  a  young  man  who  was  engaged  in  the 
flour  business,  who  was  very  anxious  to  come  and 
live  with  us.  He  had  been  to  see  us  two  or  three 


Rudder  'Grange.  21 

times,  and  had  expressed  himself  charmed  with  our 
household  arrangements. 

So  we  made  terms  with  him.  The  carpenter  par- 
titioned off  another  room,  and  our  boarder  brought 
his  trunk  and  a  large  red  velvet  arm-chair,  and  took 
up  his  abode  at  "  Rudder  Grange." 

We  liked  our  boarder  very  much,  but  he  had 
some  peculiarities.  I  suppose  everybody  has  them. 
Among  other  things,  he  was  very  fond  of  telling  us 
what  we  ought  to  do.  He  suggested  more  improve- 
ments in  the  first  three  days  of  his  sojourn  with  us 
than  I  had  thought  of  since  we  commenced  house- 
keeping. And  what  made  the  matter  worse,  his 
suggestions  were  generally  very  good  ones.  Had  it 
been  otherwise  I  might  have  borne  his  remarks  more 
complacently,  but  to  be  continually  told  what  you 
ought  to  do,  and  to  know  that  you  ought  to  do  it, 
is  extremely  annoying. 

He  was  very  anxious  that  I  should  take  off  the 
rudder,  which  was  certainly  useless  to  a  boat  situ- 
ated as  ours  was,  and  make  an  ironing-table  of  it.  I 
persisted  that  the  laws  of  symmetrical  propriety  re- 
quired that  the  rudder  should  remain  where  it  was 
—that  the  very  name  of  our  home  would  be  inter- 
fered with  by  its  removal — but  he  insisted  that 
"  Ironing-table  Grange  "  would  be  just  as  good  a 
name,  and  that  symmetrical  propriety  in  such  a  case 
was  not  worth  a  row  of  pins. 

The  result  was  that  we  did  have  the  ironing-table, 


22 


Rudder  Grange. 


and  that  Euphemia  was  very  much  pleased  with  it. 
A  great  many  other  improvements  were  projected 
and  carried  out  by  him,  and  by  these  I  was  very 
much  worried.  He  made  a  flower-garden  for 
Euphemia  on  the  extreme  forward-deck,  and  hav- 
ing borrowed  a  wheelbarrow,  he  wheeled  dozens  of 
loads  of  arable  dirt  up  our  gang-plank  and  dumped 
rJ  them  out  on  the  deck. 

When  he  had  covered 
the  garden  with  a  suit- 
able depth  of  earth,  he 
smoothed  it  off  and 
then  planted  flower- 
seeds.  It  was  rather 
late  in  the  season,  but 
most  of  them  came  up.  I  was  pleased  with  the  gar- 
den, but  sorry  I  had  not  made  it  myself. 

One  afternoon  I  got  away  from  my  office  con- 
siderably earlier  than  usual,  and  I  hurried  home  to 
enjoy  the  short  period  of  daylight  that  I  should 
have  before  supper.  It  had  been  raining  the  day 
before,  and  as  the  bottom  of  our  garden  leaked  so 
.that  earthy  water  trickled  down  at  one  end  of  our 
bedroom,  I  intended  to  devote  a  short  time  to 
stuffing  up  the  cracks  in  the  ceiling  or  in  the  bot- 
tom of  the  deck — whichever  seems  the  most  appro- 
priate. 

But  when   I   reached  a  bend   in  the  river  road, 
whence  I  always  had  the  earliest  view  of  my  estab- 


Rudder  Grange. 


lishment,  I  did  not  have  that  view.  I  hurried  on. 
The  nearer  I  approached  the  place  where  I  lived, 
the  more  horror-stricken  I  became.  There  was  no 
mistake  ;  the  boat  was  not  there ! 

In  an  instant  the  truth  flashed  upon  me. 

The  water  was  very  high — the  rain  had  swollen 
the  river — my  house  had  floated  away  ! 

It  was  Wednesday.  On  Wednesday  afternoons 
our  boarder  came  home  early. 

I  clapped  my  hat  tightly  on  my  head  and  ground 
my  teeth. 


*#*%*& 


"  Confound  that  boarder  !  "  I  thought.  '  "  He  has 
been  fooling  with  the  anchor.  He  always  said  it  was 
of  no  use,  and,  taking  advantage  of  my  absence,  he 
has  hauled  it  up,  and  has  floated  away,  and  has  gone 
— gone  with  my  wife  and  my  home  !  " 

Euphemia  and  "  Rudder  Grange  "  had  gone  off 
together — where  I  knew  not — and  with  them  that 
horrible  suggester  ! 

I  ran  wildly  along  the  bank.  I  called  aloud,  I 
shouted  and  hailed  each  passing  craft — of  which 
there  were  only  two — but  their  crews  must  have 
been  very  inattentive  to  the  woes  of  landsmen,  or 


24  Rudder  Grange. 

else  they  did  not  hear  me,  for  they  paid  no  attention 
to  my  cries. 

I  met  a  fellow  with  an  axe  on  his  shoulder.  I 
shouted  to  him  before  I  reached  him : 

"  Hello  !  did  you  see  a  boat — a  house,  I  mean- 
floating  up  the  river?" 

"A  boat-house  ?  "  asked  the  man. 

"  No,  a  house-boat,"  I  gasped. 

"  Didn't  see  nuthin'  like  it,"  said  the  man,  and  he 
passed  on,  to  his  wife  and  home,  no  doubt.  But  me ! 
Oh,  where  was  my  wife  and  my  home  ? 

I  met  several  people,  but  none  of  them  had  seen 
a  fugitive  canal-boat. 

How  many  thoughts  came  into  my  brain  as  I  ran 
along  the  river  road  !  If  that  wretched  boarder  had 
not  taken  the  rudder  for  an  ironing-table  he  might 
have  steered  in  shore  !  Again  and  again  I  con- 
founded— as  far  as  mental  ejaculations  could  do  it — 
his  suggestions. 

I  was  rapidly  becoming  frantic  when  I  met  a  per- 
son who  hailed  me. 

*"  Hello  ! "  he  said,  "  are  you   after  a  canal-boat 
adrift  ?  " 

"Yes,"  I  panted. 

"  I  thought  you  was,"  he  said.  "  You  looked 
that  way.  Well,  I  can  tell  you  where  she  is.  She's 
stuck  fast  in  the  reeds  at  the  lower  end  o'  Peter's 
P'int." 

"  Where's  that  ?"  said  I. 


Rudder  Grange. 


"Oh,  it's   about  a  mile    furder   up.     I    seed  her 
a-driftin'  up  with  the  tide — big  flood  tide,  to-day — 


and  I  thought 
I'd    see    some- 
body   after    her 
afore  long.      Any- 
thing aboard  ?  " 
Anything ! 
I    could    not   answer 

the  man.  Any- 
thing, indeed !  I  started 
away  without  a  word.  Was  the  boat  a  wreck  ?  I 
scarcely  dared  to  think  of  it.  I  scarcely  dared  to 
think  at  all. 

The  man  called  after  me  and  I  stopped.     I  could 
but  stop,  no  matter  what  I  might  hear. 


26  Rudder  Grange. 

11  Hello,  mister,"  he  said ;  "got  any  tobacco?  " 

I  walked  up  to  him.  I  took  hold  of  him  by  the 
lapel  of  his  coat.  It  was  a  dirty  lapel,  as  I  remem- 
ber even  now,  but  I  did  not  mind  that. 

"Look  here,"  said  I.  "Tell  me  the  truth,  I  can 
bear  it.  Was  that  vessel  wrecked  ?" 

The  man  looked  at  me  a  little  queerly.  I  could 
not  exactly  interpret  his  expression. 

"  You're  sure  you  kin  bear  it  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  my  hand  trembling  as  I  held  his 
coat. 

"Well,  then,"  said  he,  "it's  mor'n  I  kin,"  and 
jerking  his  coat  out  of  my  hand,  he  sprang  away. 
When  he  reached  the  other  side  of  the  road,  he 
turned  and  shouted  at  me  as  though  I  had  been 
deaf. 

"Do  you  know  what  I  think?"  he  yelled.  "I 
think  you're  a  darned  lunatic,"  and  with  that  he 
went  his  way. 

I  hastened  on  to  Peter's  Point.  Long  before  I 
reached  it  I  saw  the  boat. 

It  was  apparently  deserted ;  but  still  I  pressed 
on.  I  must  know  the  worst.  When  I  reached  the 
Point  I  found  that  the  boat  had  run  aground,  with 
her  bow  in  among  the  long  reeds  and  mud,  and  the 
rest  of  her  hull  lying  at  an  angle  from  the  shore. 
There  was  consequently  no  way  for  me  to  get  on 
board  but  to  wade  through  the  mud  and  reeds  to 
her  bow,  and  then  climb  up  as  well  as  I  could. 


Rudder  Grange.  29 

This  I  did,  but  it  was  not  easy  to  do.  Twice  I 
sank  above  my  knees  in  mud  and  water,  and  had  it 
not  been  for  reeds,  masses  of  which  I  frequently 
clutched  when  I  lost  my  footing,  I  believe  I  should 
have  fallen  down  and  come  to  my  death  in  that 
horrible  marsh.  When  I  reached  the  boat,  I  stood 
up  to  my  hips  in  water  and  saw  no  way  of  climbing 
up.  The  gang-plank  had  undoubtedly  floated  away, 
and  if  it  had  not,  it  would  have  been  of  no  use  to 
me  in  my  position. 

But  I  was  desperate.  I  clasped  the  post  which 
they  put  in  the  bow  of  canal-boats ;  I  stuck  my 
toes  and  my  finger-nails  in  the  cracks  between  the 
boards — how  glad  I  was  that  the  boat  was  an  old 
one  and  had  cracks ! — and  so,  painfully  and  slowly, 
slipping  half-way  down  once  or  twice,  and  besliming 
myself  from  chin  to  foot,  I  climbed  up  that  post  and 
scrambled  upon  deck.  In  an  instant  I  reached  the 
top  of  the  stairs,  and  in  another  instant  I  rushed 
below. 

There  sat  my  wife  and  our  boarder,  ojie  on  each 
side  of  the  dining-room  table,  complacently  playing 
checkers ! 

My  sudden  entrance  startled  them.  My  appear- 
ance startled  them  still  more. 

Euphemia  sprang  to  her  feet  and  tottered  to- 
ward me. 

"  Mercy  !  "  she  exclaimed  ;  "  has  anything  hap- 
pened ?  " 


30  Rudder  Grange. 

11  Happened  !  "  I  gasped. 

"  Look  here,"  cried  the  boarder,  clutching  me  by 
the  arm,  "what  a  condition  you're  in.  Did  you 
fall  in  the  river?" 

"  Fall  in  the  river  !  "  said  I. 

Euphemia  and  the  boarder  looked  at  each  other. 
I  looked  at  them.  Then  I  opened  my  mouth  in 
earnest. 

"  I  suppose  you  don't  know,"  I  yelled,  "  that  you 
have  drifted  away  !  " 

"  By  George ! "  cried  the  boarder,  and  in  two 
bounds  he  was  on  deck. 

Dirty  as  I  was,  Euphemia  fell  into  my  arms.  I 
told  her  all.  She  had  not  known  a  bit  of  it ! 

The  boat  had  so  gently  drifted  off,  and  had  so 
gently  grounded  among  the  reeds,  that  the  voyage 
had  never  so  much  as  disturbed  their  games  of 
checkers. 

"  He  plays  such  a  splendid  game,"  Euphemia 
sobbed,  "  and  just  as  you  came  I  thought  I  was  go- 
ing to  beat  him.  I  had  two  kings  and  two  pieces 
on  the  next  to  the  last  row — and  you  are  nearly 
drowned.  You'll  get  your  death  of  cold — and — and 
he  had  only  one  king." 

She  led  me  away,  and  I  undressed  and  washed 
myself  and  put  on  my  best  suit  of  clothes. 

When  this  was  done  I  went  out  on  deck  with 
Euphemia.  The  boarder  was  there,  standing  by 
the  petunia  bed.  His  arms  were  folded  and  he  was 


Rudder  Grange.  31 

thinking  profoundly.  As  we  approached  he  turned 
toward  us. 

"  You  were  right  about  that  anchor,"  he  said,  "  I 
ought  not  to  have  hauled  it  in ;  but  it  was  such  a 
little  anchor  that  I  thought  it  would  be  of  more  use 
on  board  as  a  garden  hoe." 

"  A  very  little  anchor  will  sometimes  do  very 
well,"  said  I,  cuttingly,  "especially  when  it  is  hooked 
around  a  tree." 

"  Yes,  there  is  something  in  that,"  said  he. 

It  was  now  growing  late,  and  as  our  agitation 
subsided  we  began  to  be  hungry.  Fortunately,  we 
had  everything  necessary  on  board,  and  as  it  really 
didn't  make  any  difference  in  our  household  econ- 
omy where  we  happened  to  be  located,  we  had  sup- 
per quite  as  usual.  In  fact,  the  kettle  had  been  put 
on  to  boil  during  the  checker-playing. 

After  supper  we  went  on  deck  to  smoke,  as  was 
our  custom,  but  there  was  a  certain  coolness  between 
me  and  our  boarder. 

Early  the  next  morning  I  arose  and  went  up-stairs 
to  consider  what  had  better  be  done,  when  I  saw 
the  boarder  standing  on  shore  near  by. 

"  Hello !  "  he  cried,  "  the  tide's  down  and  I  got 
ashore  without  any  trouble.  You  stay  where  you 
are.  I've  hired  a  couple  of  mules  to  tow  the  boat 
back.  They'll  be  here  when  the  tide  rises.  And, 
hello  !  I've  found  the  gang-plank.  It  floated  ashore 
about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  below  here," 


32  Rudder  Grange. 

In  the  course  of  the  afternoon  the  mules  and  two 
men  with  a  long  rope  appeared,  and  we  were  then 
towed  back  to  where  we  belonged. 

And  we  are  there  yet.  Our  boarder  remains  with 
us,  as  the  weather  is  still  fine,  and  the  coolness  be- 
tween us  is  gradually  diminishing.  But  the  boat  is 
moored  at  both  ends,  and  twice  a  day  I  look  to  see 
if  the  ropes  are  all  right. 

The  petunias  are  growing  beautifully,  but  the 
geraniums  do  not  seem  to  flourish.  Perhaps  there 
is  not  a  sufficient  depth  of  earth  for  them.  Several 
times  our  boarder  has  appeared  to  be  on  the  point 
of  suggesting  something  in  regard  to  them,  but,  for 
some  reason  or  other,  he  says  nothing. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Treating  of  a  Somewhat  Peculiar  Servant-Girl. 


NE  afternoon,  as  I  was  hurrying  down 
-  Broadway  to  catch  the  five  o'clock 
train,  I  met  Waterford.  He  is  an  old  friend  of 
mine,  and  I  used  to  like  him  quite  well. 

"  Hello  !  "  said  he,  "  where  are  you  going?" 

"  Home,"  I  answered. 

"  Is  that  so  ?  "  said  he.  "  I  didn't  know  you  had 
one."  . 

I  was  a  little  nettled  at  this,  and  so  I  said,  some- 
what brusquely  perhaps : 

"  But  you  must  have  known  I  lived  somewhere." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  But  I  thought  you  boarded,"  said  he. 
"  I  had  no  idea  that  you  had  a  home." 

"  But  I  have  one,  and  a  very  pleasant  home,  too. 


34  Rudder  Grange. 

You  must  excuse  me  for  not  stopping  longer,  as  I 
must  catch  my  train." 

"  Oh  !  I'll  walk  with  you,"  said  Waterford,  and  so 
we  went  down  the  street  together. 

"  Where  is  your  little  house  ?  "  he  asked. 

Why  in  the  world  he  thought  it  was  a  little  house 
I  could  not  at  the  time  imagine,  unless  he  supposed 
that  two  people  would  not  require  a  large  one.  But 
I  know,  now,  that  he  lived  in  a  very  little  house 
himself. 

But  it  was  of  no  use  getting  angry  with  Water- 
ford,  especially  as  I  saw  he  intended  walking  all  the 
way  down  to  the  ferry  with  me,  so  I  told  him  I  did 
not  live  in  any  house  at  all. 

"Why,  where  do  you  live?"  he  exclaimed,  stop- 
ping short. 

"  I  live  in  a  boat,"  said  I. 

"  A  boat !  A  sort  of  '  Rob  Roy '  arrangement, 
I  suppose.  Well,  I  would  not  have  thought  that  of 
you.  And  your  wife,  I  suppose,  has  gone  home  to 
her  people  ?  " 

"  She  has  done  nothing  of  the  kind,"  I  answered. 
"  She  lives  with  me,  and  she  likes  it  very  much. 
We  are  extremely  comfortable,  and  our  boat  is  not 
a  canoe,  or  any  such  nonsensical  affair.  It  is  a  large, 
commodious  canal-boat." 

Waterford  turned  around  and  looked  at  me. 

"  Are  you  a  deck-hand  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Deck  grandmother !  "  I  exclaimed. 


Rudder  Grange. 


35 


"  Well,  you  needn't  get  mad  about  it,"  he  said. 
"  I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  your  feelings ;  but  I  couldn't 
see  what  else  you  could  be  on  a  canal-boat.  I  don't 
suppose,  for  instance,  that  you're  captain." 

"  But  I  am,"  I  said. 

"  Look  here  !  "  said  Waterford  ;  "  this  is  coming 
it  rather  strong,  isn't  it  ?  " 

As  I  saw  he  was  getting  angry,  I  told  him  all 
about  it — told  him  how  we  had  hired  a  stranded 
canal-boat  and  had  fitted  it  up  as  a  house,  and  how 
we  lived  so  cosily  in  it,  and  had  called  it  "  Rudder 
Grange,"  and  how  we  had  taken  a  boarder. 

"  Well !  "  said   he,  "  this  is    certainly    surprising. 
I'm  coming  out  to  see  you 
some  day.    It  will  be  better 
than  going  to  Barnum's." 

I  told  him — it  is  the  way 
of  society — that  we  should  ~- 
be  glad  to  see  him,  and  we  - 
parted.  Waterford  never 
did  come  to  see  us,  and  I 
merely  mention  this  inci- 
dent to  show  how  some  of  our  friends  talked  about 
Rudder  Grange,  when  they  first  heard  that  we  lived 
there. 

After  dinner  that  evening,  when  I  went  up  on 
deck  with  Euphemia  to  have  our  smoke,  we  saw  the 
boarder  sitting  on  the  bulwarks  near  the  garden 
with  his  legs  dangling  down  outside. 


36  Rudder  Grange. 

"  Look  here  ! "  said  he. 

I  looked,  but  there  was  nothing  unusual  to  see. 

."  What  is  it?"  I  asked. 

He   turned  around  and,  seeing  Euphemia,  said 
u  Nothing." 

It  would  be  a  very  stupid  person  who  could  not 
take  such  a  hint  as  that,  and  so,  after  a  walk  around 
the  garden,  Euphemia  took  occasion  to  go  below  to 
look  at  the  kitchen  fire. 

As  soon  as  she  had  gone,  the  boarder  turned  to 
me  and  said : 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is.    She's  working  herself  sick. 

"  Sick  ?"  said  I.     "Nonsense!" 

"  No  nonsense  about  it,"  he  replied. 

The  truth  was,  that  the  boarder  was  right  and  I 
was  wrong.  We  had  spent  several  months  at  Rud- 
der Grange,  and  during  this  time  Euphemia  had 
been  working  very  hard,  and  she  really  did  begin  to 
look  pale  and  thin.  Indeed,  it  would  be  very  weary- 
ing for  any  woman  of  culture  and  refinement,  unused 
to  house-work,  to  cook  and  care  for  two  men,  and 
to  do  all  the  work  of  a  canal-boat  besides. 

But  I  saw  Euphemia  so  constantly,  and  thought 
so  much  of  her,  and  had  her  image  so  continually  in 
my  heart,  that  I  did  not  notice  this  until  our  boarder 
now  called  my  attention  to  it.  I  was  sorry  that  he 
had  to  do  it. 

u  If  I  were  in  your  place,"  said  he,  "  I  would  get 
her  a  servant." 


Rudder  Grange.  3  7 

"  If  you  were  in  my  place,"  I  replied,  somewhat 
cuttingly,  "  you  would  probably  suggest  a  lot  of  lit- 
tle things  which  would  make  everything  very  easy 
for  her." 

"  I'd  try  to,"  he  answered,  without  getting  in  the 
least  angry. 

Although  I  felt  annoyed  that  he  had  suggested  it, 
still  I  made  up  my  mind  that  Euphemia  must  have 
a  servant. 

She  agreed  quite  readily  when  I  proposed  the 
plan,  and  she  urged  me  to  go  and  see  the  carpenter 
that  very  day,  and  get  him  to  come  and  partition  off 
a  little  room  for  the  servant. 

It  was  some  time,  of  course,  before  the  room  was 
made  (for  who  ever  heard  of  a  carpenter  coming  at 
the  very  time  he  was  wanted  ?),  and,  when  it  was 
finished,  Euphemia  occupied  all  her  spare  moments 
in  getting  it  in  nice  order.  I  thought  she  was  tak- 
ing too  much  trouble,  but  she  had  her  own  ideas 
about  such  things. 

"If  a  girl  is  lodged  like  a  pig,  you  must  expect 
her  to  behave  like  a  pig,  and  I  don't  want  that 
kind." 

So  she  put  up  pretty  curtains  at  the  girl's  win- 
dow, and  with  a  box  which  she  stood  on  end,  and 
some  old  muslin  and  a  lot  of  tacks,  she  made  a  toilet- 
table  so  neat  and  convenient  that  I  thought  she 
ought  to  take  it  into  our  room  and  give  the  girl  our 
wash-stand. 


38  Rudder  Grange. 

But  all  this  time  we  had  no  servant,  and  as  I  had 
made  up  my  mind  about  the  matter,  I  naturally 
grew  impatient,  and  at  last  I  determined  to  go  and 
get  one  myself. 

So,  one  day  at  lunch-time  I  went  to  an  intelli- 
gence office  in  the  city.  There  I  found  a  large 
room  on  the  second  floor,  and  some  ladies  and  one 
or  two  men  sitting  about,  with  a  small  room,  back 
of  it,  crowded  with  "  girls  "  from  eighteen  to  sixty- 
eight  years  old.  There  were  also  girls  upon  the 
stairs,  and  girls  in  the  hall  below,  besides  some  girls 
standing  on  the  sidewalk  before  the  door. 

When  I  made  known  my  business  and  had  paid 
my  fee,  one  of  the  several  proprietors  who  were 
wandering  about  the  front  room  went  into  the  back 
apartment  and  soon  returned  with  a  tall  Irishwoman 
with  a  bony,  weather-beaten  face  and  a  large 
weather-beaten  shawl.  This  woman  was  told  to 
take  a  chair  by  my  side.  Down  sat  the  huge  creat- 
ure and  stared  at  me.  I  did  not  feel  very  easy 
under  her  scrutinizing  gaze,  but  I  bore  it  as  best  I 
could,  and  immediately  began  to  ask  her  all  the 
appropriate  questions  that  I  could  think  of.  Some 
she  answered  satisfactorily,  and  some  she  did  not 
answer  at  all ;  but  as  soon  as  I  made  a  pause  she 
began  to  put  questions  herself. 

"  How  many  sarvants  do  you  kape?  "  she  asked. 

I  answered  that  we  intended  to  get  along  with 
one,  and  if  she  understood  her  business,  I  thought 


Rudder  Grange.  4 1 

she  would  find  her  work  very  easy,  and  the  place  a 
good  one. 

She  turned  sharp  upon  me,  and  said : 

"  Have  ye  stationary  wash-toobs?" 

I  hesitated.  I  knew  our  wash-tubs  were  not  sta- 
tionary, for  I  had  helped  to  carry  them  about.  But 
they  might  be  screwed  fast  and  made  stationary  if 
that  was  an  important  object.  But,  before  making 
this  answer,  I  thought  of  the  great  conveniences  for 
washing  presented  by  our  residence,  surrounded  as 
it  was,  at  high  tide,  by  water. 

"  Why,  we  live  in  a  stationary  wash-tub,"  I  said, 
smiling. 

The  woman  looked  at  me  steadfastly  for  a  minute, 
and  then  she  rose  to  her  feet.  Then  she  called  out, 
as  if  she  were  crying  fish  or  strawberries : 

"  Mrs.  Elaine !  " 

The  female  keeper  of  the  intelligence  office, 
and  the  male  keeper,  and  a  thin  clerk,  and  all  the 
women  in  the  back  room,  and  all  the  patrons  in 
the  front  room,  jumped  up  and  gathered  around 
us. 

Astonished  and  somewhat  disconcerted,  I  rose  to 
my  feet  and  confronted  the  tall  Irishwoman,  and 
stood  smiling  in  an  uncertain  sort  of  a  way,  as  if  it 
were  all  very  funny ;  but  I  could  not  see  the  point. 
I  think  I  must  have  impressed  the  people  with  the 
idea  that  I  wished  I  had  not  come. 

"  He  says,"  exclaimed  the  woman,  as  if  some  other 


42  Rudder  Grange. 

huckster  were  crying  fish  on  the  other  side  of  the 
street — "  he  says  he  lives  in  a  wash-toob." 

"  He's  crazy ! "  ejaculated  Mrs.  Elaine,  with  an  air 
that  indicated  "  policeman  "  as  plainly  as  if  she  had 
put  her  thought  into  words. 

A  low  murmur  ran  through  the  crowd  of  women, 
while  the  thin  clerk  edged  toward  the  door. 

I  saw  there  was  no  time  to  lose.  I  stepped  back 
a  little  from  the  savage  servant,  who  was  breathing 
like  a  hot-air  engine  in  front  of  me,  and  made  my 
explanations  to  the  company.  I  told  the  tale  of 
Rudder  Grange,  and  showed  them  how  it  was  like  to 
a  stationary  wash-tub — at  certain  stages  of  the  tide. 
I  was  listened  to  with  great  attention.  When  I 
had  finished,  the  tall  woman  turned  around  and 
faced  the  assemblage. 

"  An'  he  wants  a  cook  to  make  soup  !  In  a  canal- 
boat  ! "  said  she,  and  off  she 
marched  into  the  back  room,  fol- 
lowed closely  by  all  the  other 
women. 

"  I  don't  think  we  have  any 
one  here  who  would  suit  you," 
said  Mrs.  Elaine. 

I  did  not  think  so,  myself. 
/  What  on  earth  would  Euphemia 
have  done  with  that  volcanic 
Irishwoman  in  her  little  kitchen !  I  took  up  my  hat 
and  bade  Mrs.  Elaine  good-morning. 


Rudder  Grange.  43 

"  Good-morning,"  said  she,  with  a  distressing 
smile. 

She  had  one  of  those  mouths  that  look  like  a  gash 
in  the  face. 

I  went  home  without  a  servant.  In  a  day  or 
two  Euphemia  came  to  town  and  obtained  one. 
Apparently  she  got  her  without  any  trouble,  but  I 
am  not  sure. 

She  went  to  a  "  Home  "  —  Saint  Somebody's 
Home — a  place  where  they  keep  orphans  to  let,  so 
to  speak.  Here  Euphemia  selected  a  light-haired, 
medium-sized  orphan,  and  brought  her  home. 

The  girl's  name  was  Pomona.  Whether  or  not 
her  parents  gave  her  this  name  is  doubtful.  At  any 
rate,  she  did  not  seem  quite  decided  in  her  mind 
about  it  herself,  for  she  had  not  been  with  us  more 
than  two  weeks  before  she  expressed  a  desire  to  be 
called  Clare.  This  longing  of  her  heart,  however, 
was  denied  her.  So  Euphemia,  who  was  always  cor- 
rect, called  her  Pomona.  I  did  the  same  whenever 
I  could  think  not  to  say  Bologna — which  seemed  to 
come  very  pat  for  some  reason  or  other. 

As  for  the  boarder,  he  generally  called  her  Al- 
toona,  connecting  her  in  some  way  with  the  process 
of  stopping  for  refreshments,  in  which  she  was  an 
adept. 

She  was  an  earnest,  hearty  girl.  She  was  always 
in  a  good-humor,  and  when  I  asked  her  to  do  any- 
thing, she  assented  in  a  bright,  cheerful  way,  and  in 


44 


Rudder  Grange. 


a  loud  tone  full  of  good-fellowship,  as  though  she 
would  say : 

"  Certainly,  my  high  old  cock !  To  be  sure  I 
will.  Don't  worry  about  it — give  your  mind  no 
more  uneasiness  on  that  subject.  I'll  bring  the  hot 
water." 

She  did  not  know  very  much,  but  she  was  de- 
lighted to  learn,  and  she  was  very  strong.  What- 
ever Euphemia  told  her  to  do,  she  did  instantly  with 


a  bang.  What  pleased  her  better  than  anything  else 
was  to  run  up  and  down  the  gang-plank,  carrying 
buckets  of  water  to  water  the  garden.  She  delighted 
in  out-door  work,  and  sometimes  dug  so  vigorously 
in  our  garden  that  she  brought  up  pieces  of  the 
deck-planking  with  every  spadeful. 

Our  boarder  took  the  greatest  interest  in  her,  and 
sometimes  watched  her  movements  so  intently  that 
he  let  his  pipe  go  out. 

"  What  a  whacking  girl  that  would  be  to  tread 


Rudder  Grange.  45 

out  grapes  in  the  vineyards  of  Italy !  She'd  make 
wine  cheap,"  he  once  remarked. 

"Then  I'm  glad  she  isn't  there,"  said  Euphemia, 
"  for  wine  oughtn't  to  be  cheap." 

Euphemia  was  a  thorough  little  temperance 
woman. 

The  one  thing  about  Pomona  that  troubled  me 
more  than  anything  else  was  her  taste  for  literature. 
It  was  not  literature  to  which  I  objected,  but  her 
very  peculiar  taste.  She  would  read  in  the  kitchen 
every  night  after  she  had  washed  the  dishes ;  but  if 
she  had  not  read  aloud,  it  would  not  have  made  so 
much  difference  to  me.  But  I  am  naturally  very 
sensitive  to  external  impressions,  and  I  do  not  fancy 
the  company  of  people  who,  like  our  servant,  can- 
not read  without  pronouncing  in  a  measured  and 
distinct  voice  every  word  of  what  they  are  reading. 
And  when  the  matter  thus  read  appeals  to  one's 
every  sentiment  of  aversion,  and  there  is  no  way  of 
escaping  it,  the  case  is  hard  indeed. 

From  the  first,  I  felt  inclined  to  order  Pomona, 
if  she  could  not  attain  the  power  of  silent  perusal, 
to  cease  from  reading  altogether ;  but  Euphemia 
would  not  hear  of  this. 

"  Poor  thing !  "  said  she ;  "  it  would  be  cruel  to 
take  from  her  her  only  recreation.  And  she  says 
she  can't  read  any  other  way.  You  needn't  listen 
if  ycu  don't  want  to." 

That  was  all  very  well  from  an  abstract  point  of 


46  Rudder  Grange. 

view ;  but  the  fact  was  that,  in  practice,  the  more  I 
did  not  want  to  listen  the  more  I  heard. 

As  the  evenings  were  often  cool,  we  sat  in  our 
dining-room,  and  the  partition  between  this  room 
and  the  kitchen  seemed  to  have  no  influence  what- 
ever in  arresting  sound.  So  that  when  I  was  try- 
ing to  read  or  to  reflect,  it  was  by  no  means  ex- 
hilarating to  my  mind  to  hear  from  the  next  room 
that: 

"  The  la  dy  ce  sel  i  a  now  si  zed  the  weep  on 
and  all  though  the  boor  ly  vil  ly  an  re  tain  ed  his  vy 
gor  ous  hold  she  drew  the  blade  through  his  fin  gers 
and  hoorl  ed  it  far  be  hind  her  dryp  ping  with 
jore." 

This  sort  of  thing,  kept  up  for  an  hour  or  so  at  a 
time,  used  to  drive  me  nearly  wild.  But  Euphemia 
did  not  mind  it.  I  believe  that  she  had  so  delicate 
a  sense  of  what  was  proper  that  she  did  not  hear 
Pomona's  private  readings. 

On  one  occasion,  even  Euphemia's  influence 
could  scarcely  restrain  me  from  violent  interference. 

It  was  our  boarder's  night  out — once  a  week  he 
was  detained  in  town  by  his  business — and  Pomona 
was  sitting  up  to  let  him  in.  This  was  necessary, 
for  our  front-door  (or  main-hatchway)  had  no  night- 
latch,  but  was  fastened  by  means  of  a  bolt.  Eu- 
phemia and  I  used  to  sit  up  for  him,  but  that 
was  earlier  in  the  season,  when  it  was  pleasant 
to  be  out  on  deck  until  quite  a  late  hour.  But 


Rudder  Grange.  47 

Pomona  never  objected  to  sitting,  or  getting,  up 
late,  and  so  we  allowed  this  weekly  duty  to  devolve 
on  her. 

On  this  particular  night  I  was  very  tired  and 
sleepy,  and  soon  after  I  got  into  bed  I  dropped  into 
a  delightful  slumber.  But  it  was  not  long  before  I 
was  awakened  by  the  fact  that : 

"  Sa  rah  did  not  fl  inch  but  gras  ped  the  heat  ed 
i  ron  in  her  un  in  jur  ed  hand  and  when  the  ra  bid 
an  i  mal  a  proach  ed  she  thr  ust  the  lur  id  po  ker  in 

v  •  »> 

"  My  conscience  !  "  said  I  to  Euphemia,  "  can't 
that  girl  be  stopped  ?  " 

"  You  wouldn't  have  her  sit  there  and  do  noth- 
ing, would  you  ?  "  said  she. 

"  No ;  but  she  needn't  read  aloud  in  that  way." 

"  She  can't  read  any  other  way,"  said  Euphemia, 
drowsily. 

"  Yell  af  ter  yell  res  oun  ded  as  he  wil  dly  spr 
rang " 

"  I  cant  stand  that,  and  I  won't,"  said  I.  "  Why 
don't  she  go  into  the  kitchen? — the  dining-room's 
no  place  for  her." 

"  She  must  not  sit  there,"  said  Euphemia. 
"  There's  a  window-pane  out.  Can't  you  cover  up 
your  head  ?  " 

"  I  shall  not  be  able  to  breathe  if  I  do ;  but  I 
suppose  that's  no  matter,"  I  replied. 

The  reading  continued. 


48  Rudder  Grange. 

"  Ha,  ha!  Lord  Mar  mont  thun  der  ed  thou  too 
shalt  suf  fer  all  that  this  poor — 

I  sprang  out  of  bed. 

Euphemia  thought  I  was  going  for  my  pistol,  and 
she  gave  one  bound  and  stuck  her  head  out  of  the 
door. 

"  Pomona,  fly  !  "  she  cried. 

"Yes,  sm'am,"  said  Pomona;  and  she  got  up 
and  flew — not  very  fast,  I  imagine.  Where  she  flew 
to  I  don't  know,  but  she  took  the  lamp  with  her, 
and  I  could  hear  distant  syllables  of  agony  and 
blood,  until  the  boarder  came  home  and  Pomona 
went  to  bed. 

I  think  that  this  made  an  impression  upon  Eu- 
phemia, for,  although  she  did  not  speak  to  me  upon 
the  subject  (or  any  other)  that  night,  the  next  time 
I  heard  Pomona  reading,  the  words  ran  somewhat 
thus: 

"  The  as  ton  ish  ing  che  ap  ness  of  land  is  ac 
count  ed  for  by  the  want  of  home  mar  kets,  of 
good  ro  ads  and  che  ap  me  ans  of  trans  por  ta  tion 
in  ma  ny  sec  ti  ons  of  the  State." 


CHAPTER   IV. 

Treating  of  a  Somewhat  Peculiar  TSurglar. 


r-i 


HAVE  spoken  of  my  pistol.  During  the 
early  part  of  our  residence  at  Rudder 
Grange  I  never  thought  of  such  a  thing  as 
owning  a  pistol. 

But  it  was  different  afterward.  I  kept  a 
revolver  loaded  in  the  bureau  drawer  in  our 
bedroom. 

The  cause  of  this  change  was  burglars.  Not  that 
any  of  these  unpleasant  persons  had  visited  us,  but 
we  much  feared  they  would  do  so.  Several  houses 
in  the  vicinity  had  been  entered  during  the  past 
month,  and  we  could  never  tell  when  our  turn  would 
come. 

To  be  sure,  our  boarder  suggested  that  if  we  were 

to  anchor  out  a  little  farther  at  night  no  burglar 

would  risk  catching  his  death  of  cold  by  swimming 

out  to   us  ;    but   Euphemia  having  replied  that  it 

3 


50  Rudder  Grange. 

would  be  rather  difficult  to  move  a  canal-boat  every 
night  without  paddle-wheels,  sails,  or  mules,  espe- 
cially if  it  were  aground,  this  plan  was  considered 
to  be  effectually  disposed  of. 

So  we  made  up  our  minds  that  we  must  fasten  up 
everything  very  securely,  and  I  bought  a  pistol  and 
two  burglar-alarms.  One  of  these  I  affixed  to  the 
most  exposed  window,  and  the  other  to  the  door 
which  opened  on  the  deck.  These  alarms  were  very 
simple  affairs,  but  they  were  good  enough.  When 
they  were  properly  attached  to  a  window  or  door, 
and  it  was  opened,  a  little  gong  sounded  like  a 
violently  deranged  clock  striking  all  the  hours  of 
the  day  at  once. 

The  window  did  not  trouble  us  much,  but  it  was 
rather  irksome  to  have  to  make  the  attachment  to 
the  door  every  night  and  to  take  it  off  every  morn- 
ing. However,  as  Euphemia  said,  it  was  better  to 
take  a  little  trouble  than  to  have  the  house  full  of 
burglars,  which  was  true  enough. 

We  made  all  the  necessary  arrangements  in  case 
burglars  should  make  an  inroad  upon  us.  At  the 
first  sound  of  the  alarm,  Euphemia  and  the  girl 
were  to  lie  flat  on  the  floor  or  get  under  their  beds. 
Then  the  boarder  and  I  were  to  stand  up,  back  to 
back,  each  with  pistol  in  hand,  and  fire  away,  re- 
volving on  a  common  centre  the  while.  In  this 
way,  by  aiming  horizontally  at  about  four  feet  from 
the  floor,  we  could  rake  the  premises,  and  run  no 


Rudder  Grange.  51 

risk  of  shooting  each  other  or  the  women  of  the 
family. 

To  be  sure,  there  were  some  slight  objections  to 
this  plan.  The  boarder's  room  was  at  some  dis- 
tance from  our  chamber,  and  he  would  probably  not 
hear  the  alarm,  while  the  burglars  might  not  be  will- 
ing to  wait  while  I  went  forward  and  roused  him  up, 
and  brought  him  to  our  part  of  the  house.  But  this 
was  a  minor  difficulty.  I  had  no  doubt  but  that,  if 
it  should  be  necessary,  I  could  manage  to  get  our 
boarder  into  position  in  plenty  of  time. 

It  was  not  very  long  before  there  was  an  oppor- 
tunity of  testing  the  plan. 

About  twelve  o'clock  one  night  one  of  the  alarms 
—  that  on  the  kitchen  window — went  off  with  a 
whir  and  a  wild  succession  of  clangs.  For  a  moment 
I  thought  the  morning  train  had  arrived,  and  then  I 
woke  up.  Euphemia  was  already  under  the  bed. 

I  hurried  on  a  few  clothes,  and  then  I  tried  to 
find  the  bureau  in  the  dark.  This  was  not  easy,  as 
I  lost  my  bearings  entirely.  But  I  found  it  at  last, 
got  the  top  drawer  open  and  took  out  my  pistol. 
Then  I  slipped  out  of  the  room,  hurried  up  the 
stairs,  opened  the  door  (setting  off  the  alarm  there, 
by  the  way),  and  ran  along  the  deck — there  was  a 
cold  night  wind — and  hastily  descended  the  steep 
steps  which  led  into  the  boarder's  room.  The  door 
at  the  bottom  of  the  steps  was  not  fastened,  and,  as 
I  opened  it,  a  little  stray  moonlight  illumined  the 


Rudder  Grange. 


room.  I  hastily  stepped  to  the  bed  and  shook  the 
boarder  by  the  shoulder.  He  kept  his  pistol  under 
his  pillow. 

In  an  instant  he  was  on  his  feet,  his  hand  grasped 
my  throat,  and  the  cold  muzzle  of  his  Derringer 
pistol  was  at  my  forehead.  It  was  an  awfully  big 
muzzle,  like  the  mouth  of  a  bottle. 

I  don't  know  when  I  lived  so  long  as  during  the 
first  minute  that  he  held  me  thus. 

"  Rascal !  "  he  said.    "  Do 
as  much  as  breathe,  and  I'll 
pull  the  trigger."' 
I  didn't  breathe. 
I    had  an  accident    insur- 
ance on  my  life.     Would  it 
hold    good    in    a   case    like 
this  ?     Or  would  Euphemia 
have    to    go    back    to    her 
father  ? 

He  pushed  me  back  into 
the  little  patch  of  moonlight. 

"  Oh  !  is  it  you  ?  "  he  said,  relaxing  his  grasp. 
"  What  do  you  want  ?  A  mustard  plaster  ?  " 

He  had  a  package  of  patent  plasters  in  his  room. 
You  took  one  and  dipped  it  in  hot  water,  and  it 
was  all  ready. 

"  No,"  said  I,  gasping  a  little.     "  Burglars." 
"  Oh  ! "  he  said,  and  he  put  down  his  pistol  and 
put  on  his  clothes. 


Rudder  Grange.  53 

"  Come  along,"  he  said,  and  away  we  went  over 
the  deck. 

When  we  reached  the  stairs  all  was  dark  and 
quiet  below. 

It  was  a  matter  of  hesitancy  as  to  going  down. 

I  started  to  go  down  first,  but  the  boarder  held 
me  back. 

"  Let  me  go  down,"  he  said. 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  my  wife  is  there." 

"  That's  the  very  reason  you  should  not  go,"  he 
said.  "  She  is  safe  enough  yet,  and  they  would  fire 
only  at  a  man.  It  would  be  a  bad  job  for  her  if 
you  were  killed.  I'll  go  down." 

So  he  went  down,  slowly  and  cautiously,  his  pis- 
tol in  one  hand,  and  his  life  in  the  other,  as  it  were. 

When  he  reached  the  bottom  of  the  steps  I 
changed  my  mind.  I  could  not  remain  above 
while  the  burglar  and  Euphemia  were  below,  so  I 
followed. 

The  boarder  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
dining-room,  into  which  the  stairs  led.  I  could  not 
see  him,  but  I  put  my  hand  against  him  as  I  was 
feeling  my  way  across  the  floor. 

I  whispered  to  him  : 

"Shall  we  put  our  backs  together  and  revolve 
and  fire  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  whispered  back,  "  not  now  ;  he  may  be 
on  a  shelf  by  this  time,  or  under  a  table.  Let's 
look  him  up." 


54  Rudder  Grange. 

I  confess  that  I  was  not  very  anxious  to  look 
him  up,  but  I  followed  the  boarder,  as  he  slowly 
made  his  way  toward  the  kitchen  door.  As  we 
opened  the  door  we  instinctively  stopped. 

The  window  was  open,  and  by  the  light  of  the 
moon  that  shone  in  we  saw  the  rascal  standing 
on  a  chair,  leaning  out  of  the  window,  evidently 
just  ready  to  escape.  Fortunately,  we  were  un- 
heard. 

"  Let's  pull  him  in,"  whispered  the  boarder. 

"  No,"  I  whispered  in  reply.  "  We  don't  want 
him  in.  Let's  hoist  him  out." 

"All  right,"  returned  the  boarder. 

We  laid  our  pistols  on  the  floor,  and  softly  ap- 
proached the  window.  Being  barefooted,  our  steps 
were  noiseless. 

"  Hoist  when  I  count  three,"  breathed  the  boarder 
into  my  ear. 

We  reached  the  chair.  Each  of  us  took  hold  of 
two  of  its  legs. 

"  One — two — three  !  "  said  the  boarder,  and  to- 
gether we  gave  a  tremendous  lift  and  shot  the 
wretch  out  of  the  window. 

The  tide  was  high,  and  there  was  a  good  deal  of 
water  around  the  boat.  We  heard  a  rousing  splash 
outside. 

Now  there  was  no  need  of  silence. 

"  Shall  we  run  on  deck  and  shoot  him  as  he 
swims  ?  "  I  cried. 


Rudder  Grange. 


55 


"  No,"  said  the  boarder,  "  we'll  get  the  boat-hook 
and  jab  him  if  he  tries  to  climb  up." 

We  rushed  on  deck.     I  seized  the  boat-hook  and 
looked  over  the  side.     But  I  saw  no  one. 

"  He's  gone  to  the  bottom,"  I  exclaimed. 

"  He  didn't 
go  very  far 
then,"  said  the 
boarder,  "for 
it's  not  more 
than  two  feet 
deep  there." 

At  that  mo- 
ment our  atten- 
t  i  o  n  was  at- 
tracted  by  a 
voice  from  the 
shore. 

"Will  you 
please  let  down 
the  g  a  n  g- 
plank  ?  " 

We  looked  ashore,  and  there  stood  Pomona  drip- 
ping from  every  pore. 

We  spoke  no  words,  but  lowered  the  gang-plank. 

She  came  aboard. 

"  Good-night  ! "  said  the  boarder,  and  he  went  to 
bed. 

"  Pomona !  "  said  I,  "  what  have  you  been  doing  ?  " 


56  Rudder   Grange. 

11 1  was  a  lookin'  at  the  moon,  sir,  when  pop  !  the 
chair  bounced,  and  out  I  went." 

"  You  shouldn't  do  that,"  I  said,  sternly.  "  Some 
day  you'll  be  drowned.  Take  off  your  wet  things 
and  go  to  bed." 

"  Yes,  sma'am — sir,  I  mean?'  said  she,  as  she  went 
down-stairs. 

When  I  reached  my  room  I  lighted  the  lamp,  and 
found  Euphemia  still  under  the  bed. 

"  Is  it  all  right?"  she  asked. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered.  "  There  was  no  burglar.  Po- 
mona fell  out  of  the  window." 

"  Did  you  get  her  a  plaster  ?  "  asked  Euphemia, 
drowsily. 

"  No,  she  did  not  need  one.  She's  all  right  now. 
Were  you  worried  about  me,  dear?" 

"  No,  I  trusted  in  you  entirely,  and  I  think  I  dozed 
a  little  under  the  bed." 

In  one  minute  she  was  asleep. 

The  boarder  and  I  did  not  make  this  matter  a 
subject  of  conversation  afterward,  but  Euphemia 
gave  the  girl  a  lecture  on  her  careless  ways,  and 
made  her  take  several  Dover's  powders  the  next  day. 

An  important  fact  in  domestic  economy  was  dis- 
covered about  this  time  by  Euphemia  and  mysdf. 
Perhaps  we  were  not  the  first  to  discover  it,  but  we 
certainly  did  find  it  out — and  this  fact  was,  that 
housekeeping  costs  money.  At  the  end  of  every 
week  we  counted  up  our  expenditures — it  was  no 


Rudder  Grange.  57 

trouble  at  all  to  count  up  our  receipts — and  every 
week  the  result  was  more  unsatisfactory. 

"  If  we  could  only  get  rid  of  the  disagreeable 
balance  that  has  to  be  taken  along  all  the  time,  and 
which  gets  bigger  and  bigger,  like  a  snow-ball,  I 
think  we  would  find  the  accounts  more  satisfac- 
tory," said  Euphemia. 

This  was  on  a  Saturday  night.  We  always  got 
out  our  pencils  and  paper  and  money  at  the  end  of 
the  week. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  with  an  attempt  to  appear  face- 
tious and  unconcerned ;  "  but  it  would  be  all  well 
enough  if  we  could  take  that  snow-ball  to  the  fire 
and  melt  it  down." 

"  But  there  never  is  any  fire  where  there  are 
snow-balls,"  said  Euphemia. 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  and  that's  just  the  trouble." 

It  was  on  the  following  Thursday,  when  I  came 
home  in  the  evening,  that  Euphemia  met  me  with 
a  glowing  face.  It  rather  surprised  me  to  see  her 
look  so  happy,  for  she  had  been  very  quiet  and 
preoccupied  for  the  first  part  of  the  week.  So  much 
so,  indeed,  that  I  had  thought  of  ordering  less  meat 
for  a  week  or  two,  and  taking  her  to  a  concert  with 
the  money  saved.  But  this  evening  she  looked  as 
if  she  did  not  need  a  music  tonic. 

"What  makes  you  so  bright,  my  dear?  "  said  I, 
when  I  had  greeted  her.  "  Has  anything  jolly 
happened  ? " 


58  Rudder  Grange. 

"  No,"  said  she,  "  nothing  yet ;  but  I  am  going  to 
make  a  fire  to  melt  snow-balls." 

Of  course  I  was  very  anxious  to  know  how  she 
was  going  to  do  it,  but  she  would  not  tell  me.  It 
was  a  plan  which  she  intended  to  keep  to  herself 
until  she  saw  how  it  worked.  I  did  not  urge  her  to 
confide  in  me,  because  she  had  so  few  secrets,  and  I 
thought  she  had  a  right  to  at  least  one  good  one, 
and  therefore  I  did  not  hear  anything  about  this 
plan  until  it  had  been  carried  out. 

Her  scheme  was  as  follows :  After  thinking  over 
our  financial  condition  and  puzzling  her  brain  to  find 
out  some  way  of  bettering  it,  she  had  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  she  would  earn  some  money  by  her 
own  exertions,  to  help  defray  our  household  ex- 
penses. She  never  had  made  any  money,  but  that 
was  no  reason  why  she  should  not  begin.  It  was 
too  bad  that  I  should  have  to  toil  and  toil  and  not 
get  nearly  enough  money  after  all.  So  she  would 
go  to  work  and  earn  something  with  her  own  hands. 

She  had  heard  of  an  establishment  in  the  city, 
where  ladies  of  limited  means,  or  transiently  impe- 
cunious, could,  in  a  very  quiet  and  private  way,  get 
sewing  to  do.  They  could  thus  provide  for  their 
needs  without  any  one  but  the  officers  of  the  insti- 
tution knowing  anything  about  it. 

Euphemia  went  to  this  place,  and  procured  some 
work.  It  was  not  a  very  large  bundle,  but  it  was 
larger  than  she  had  been  accustomed  to  carry,  and, 


Rudder  Grange.  59 

what  was  perfectly  dreadful,  it  was  wrapped  up  in  a 
newspaper  !  When  Euphemia  told  me  the  story, 
she  said  that  this  was  too  much  for  her  courage. 
She  could  not  go  on  the  train,  and  perhaps  meet 
people  belonging  to  our  church,  with  a  newspaper 
bundle  under  her  arm. 

But  her  genius  for  expedients  saved  her  from  this 
humiliation.  She  had  to  purchase  some  sewing  cot- 
con,  and  some  other  little  things,  and  when  she  had 
bought  them  she  handed  her  bundle  to  the  woman 
behind  the  counter,  and  asked  her  if  she  would  not 
be  so  good  as  to  have  that  wrapped  up  with  the 
other  things.  It  was  a  good  deal  to  ask,  she  knew, 
and  the  woman  smiled,  for  the  articles  she  had 
bought  would  not  make  a  package  as  large  as  her 
hand.  However,  her  request  was  complied  with, 
and  she  took  away  a  very  decent  package,  with  the 
address  of  the  store  stamped  on  the  outside.  I 
suppose  that  there  are  not  more  than  half  a  dozen 
people  in  this  country  who  would  refuse  Euphemia 
anything  that  she  would  be  willing  to  ask  for. 

She  took  the  work  home,  and  she  labored  faith- 
fully at  it  for  about  a  week.  She  did  not  suppose  it 
would  take  her  so  long ;  but  she  was  not  used  to 
such  very  plain  sewing,  and  was  much  afraid  that 
she  could  not  do  it  neatly  enough.  Besides  this,  she 
could  only  work  on  it  in  the  daytime — when  I  was 
away — and  was,  of  course,  interrupted  a  great  deal 
by  her  ordinary  household  duties,  and  the  necessity 


60  Rudder  Grange. 

of  a  careful  oversight  of  Pomona's  somewhat  erratic 
methods  of  doing  her  work. 

But  at  last  she  finished  the  job  and  took  it  into 
the  city.  She  did  not  want  to  spend  any  more 
money  on  the  trip  than  was  absolutely  necessary, 
and  so  was  very  glad  to  find  that  she  had  a  rem- 
nant of  pocket-money  sufficient  to  pay  her  fare 
both  ways. 

When  she  reached  the  city,  she  walked  up  to  the 
place  where  her  work  was  to  be  delivered,  and  found 
it  much  farther  when  she  went  on  foot  than  it  had 
seemed  to  her  riding  in  the  street  cars.  She  handed 
over  her  package  to  the  proper  person,  and  by  whom 
it  was  soon  examined  and  approved,  and  she  received 
her  pay  therefor. 

It  amounted  to  sixty  cents.  She  had  made  no 
bargain,  but  she  was  a  little  astonished.  However, 
she  said  nothing,  but  left  the  place  without  asking 
for  any  more  work.  In  fact,  she  forgot  all  about  it. 
She  had  an  idea  that  everything  was  all  wrong,  and 
that  idea  engrossed  her  mind  entirely.  There  was 
no  mistake  about  the  sum  paid,  for  the  clerk  had 
referred  to  the  printed  table  of  prices  in  calculating 
the  amount  due.  But  something  was  wrong,  and,  at 
the  moment,  Euphemia  could  not  tell  what  it  was. 
She  left  the  place,  and  started  to  walk  back  to  the 
ferry.  But  she  was  so  tired  and  weak  and  hungry 
—it  was  now  an  hour  or  two  past  her  regular  lunch- 
eon time — that  she  thought  she  should  faint  if 


Rudder  Grange. 


61 


she  did  not  go  somewhere  and   get  some  refresh- 
ments. 

So,  like  a  sensible  little  woman  as  she  was,  she 
went  into  a  restaurant.  She  sat  down  at  a  table,  and 
a  waiter  came  to  her  to  see  what  she  would  have. 
She  was  not  accustomed  to  eating-houses,  and  per- 
haps this  was  the  first  time  that  she  had  ever  visited 
one  alone.  What  she  wanted  was 
something  simple.  So  she  ordered 
a  cup  of  tea  and  some  rolls,  and  a 
bit  of  chicken.  The  meal  was  a 
very  good  one,  and  Euphemia  en- 
joyed it.  When  she  had  finished, 
she  went  up  to  the  counter  to  set- 
tle. Her  bill  was  sixty  cents.  She 
paid  the  money  that  she  had  just 
received,  and  walked  down  to  the  ferry — all  in  a 
daze,  she  said.  When  she  reached  home  she  thought 
it  over,  and  then  she  cried. 

After  awhile  she  dried  her  eyes,  and  when  I  came 
home  she  told  me  all  about  it. 

"  I  give  it  up,"  she  said.  "  I  don't  believe  I  can 
help  you." 

Poor  little  thing !  I  took  her  in  my  arms  and 
comforted  her,  and  before  bedtime  I  had  convinced 
her  that  she  was  able  to  help  me  better  than  any 
one  else  on  earth,  and  that  without  puzzling  her 
brains  about  business,  or  wearing  herself  out  by  sew- 
ing for  pay. 


62 


Rudder  Grange. 


So  we  went  on  in  our  old  way,  and  by  keeping  our 
attention  on  our  weekly  balance,  we  prevented  it 
from  growing  very  rapidly. 

We  fell  back  on  our  philosophy  (it  was  all  the 
capital  we  had),  and  became  as  calm  and  contented 
as  circumstances  allowed. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Pomona  Produces  a  Partial  Revolution  in  Rudder 
Grange. 


UPHEMIA  began  to  take  a  great  deal 
of  comfort  in  her  servant.  Every  even- 
ing she  had  some  new  instance  to  relate 
^J  of  Pomona's  inventive  abilities  and  apt- 
ness in  adapting  herself  to  the  peculiarities  of  our 
method  of  housekeeping. 

"  Only  to  think !  "  said  she,  one  afternoon, 
"  Pomona  has  just  done  another  very  smart  thing. 
You  know  what  a  trouble  it  has  always  been  for  us 
to  carry  all  our  waste  water  up-stairs,  and  throw  it 
over  the  bulwarks.  Well,  she  has  remedied  all  that. 
She  has  cut  a  nice  little  low  window  in  the  side  of 
the  kitchen,  and  has  made  a  shutter  of  the  piece  she 
cut  out,  with  leather  hinges  to  it,  and  now  she  can 
just  open  this  window,  throw  the  water  out,  shut  it 
again,  and  there  it  is !  I  tell  you  she's  smart." 


64  Rudder  Grange. 

"Yes  ;  there  is  no  doubt  of  that,"  I  said;  "but  I 
think  that  there  is  danger  of  her  taking  more  in- 
terest in  such  extraordinary  and  novel  duties  than 
in  the  regular  work  of  the  house." 

"  Now,  don't  discourage  the  girl,  my  dear,"  she 
said,  "  for  she  is  of  the  greatest  use  to  me,  and  I 
don't  want  you  to  be  throwing  cold  water  about 
like  some  people." 

"  Not  even  if  I  throw  it  out  of  Pomona's  little 
door,  I  suppose." 

"  No.  Don't  throw  it  at  all.  Encourage  people. 
What  would  the  world  be  if  everybody  chilled  our 
aspirations  and  extraordinary  efforts?  Like  Ful- 
ton's steamboat." 

"All  right,"  I  said;  "  I'll  not  discourage  her." 

It  was  now  getting  late  in  the  season.  It  was 
quite  too  cool  to  sit  out  on  deck  in  the  evening, 
and  our  garden  began  to  look  desolate. 

Our  boarder  had  wheeled  up  a  lot  of  fresh  earth, 
and  had  prepared  a  large  bed,  in  which  he  had 
planted  turnips.  They  made  an  excellent  fall  crop, 
he  assured  us. 

From  being  simply  cool  it  began  to  be  rainy, 
and  the  weather  grew  decidedly  unpleasant.  But 
our  boarder  bade  us  take  courage.  This  was 
probably  the  "  equinoctial,"  and  when  it  was  over 
there  would  be  a  delightful  Indian  Summer,  and  the 
turnips  would  grow  nicely. 

This  sounded  very  well,  but  the  wind  blew  up 


Rudder  Grange.  65 

cold  at  night,  and  there  was  a  great  deal  of  un- 
pleasant rain. 

One  night  it  blew  what  Pomona  called  a  "  whirl- 
icane,"  and  we  went  to  bed  very  early  to  keep 
warm.  We  heard  our  boarder  on  deck  in  the  gar- 
den after  we  were  in  bed,  and  Euphemia  said  she 
could  not  imagine  what  he  was  about,  unless  he 
was  anchoring  his  turnips  to  keep  them  from  blow- 
ing away. 

During  the  night  I  had  a  dream.  I  thought  I 
was  a  boy  again,  and  was  trying  to  stand  upon  my 
head,  a  feat  for  which  I  had  been  famous.  But  in- 
stead of  throwing  myself  forward  on  my  hands,  and 
then  raising  my  heels  backward  over  my  head,  in 
the  orthodox  manner,  I  was  on  my  back,  and  trying 
to  get  on  my  head  from  that  position.  I  awoke 
suddenly,  and  found  that  the  footboard  of  the  bed- 
stead was  much  higher  than  our  heads.  We  were 
lying  on  a  very  much  inclined  plane,  with  our  heads 
downward.  I  roused  Euphemia,  and  we  both 
jumped  out  of  bed,  when,  at  almost  the  same 
moment,  we  slipped  along  the  floor  into  a  foot  or 
two  of  water. 

Euphemia  was  scarcely  awake,  and  she  fell  down, 
gurgling.  It  was  dark,  but  I  heard  her  fall,  and  I 
sprang  over  the  bedstead  to  her  assistance.  I  had 
scarcely  raised  her  up,  when  I  heard  a  pounding  at 
the  front  door,  or  main-hatchway,  and  our  boarder 
shouted : 


66  Rudder  Grange. 

"Get  up!  Come  out  of  that!  Open  the  door! 
The  old  boat's  turning  over !  " 

My  heart  fell  within  me,  but  I  clutched  Euphe- 
mia.  I  said  no  word,  and  she  simply  screamed.  I 
dragged  her  over  the  floor,  sometimes  in  the  water 
and  sometimes  out  of  it.  I  pushed  the  dining-room 
door  open  and  set  her  on  the  stairs.  They  were  in 
a  topsy-turvy  condition,  but  they  were  dry.  I 
found  a  lantern  which  hung  on  a  nail,  with  a 
match-box  under  it,  and  I  struck  a  light.  Then  I 
scrambled  back  and  brought  her  some  clothes. 

All  this  time  the  boarder  was  yelling  and  pound- 
ing at  the  door.  When  Euphemia  was  ready  I 
opened  the  door  and  took  her  out. 

"  You  go  dress  yourself,"  said  the  boarder.  "  I'll 
hold  her  here  until  you  come  back." 

I  left  her  and  found  my  clothes  (which,  chair 
and  all,  had  tumbled  against  the  foot  of  the  bed 
and  so  had  not  gone  into  the  water),  and  soon  reap- 
peared on  deck.  The  wind  was  blowing  strongly, 
but  it  did  not  now  seem  to  be  very  cold.  The 
deck  reminded  me  of  the  gang-plank  of  a  Harlem 
steamboat  at  low  tide.  It  was  inclined  at  an  angle 
of  more  than  forty-five  degrees,  I  am  sure.  There 
was  light  enough  for  us  to  see  about  us,  but  the 
scene  and  all  the  dreadful  circumstances  made  me 
feel  the  most  intense  desire  to  wake  up  and  find  it 
all  a  dream.  There  was  no  doubt,  however,  about 
the  boarder  being  wide  awake. 


Rudder  Grange.  67 

"  Now  then,"  said  he,  "  take  hold  of  her  and  we'll 
help  her  up  here.  You  scramble  down  on  this  side 
— its  all  dry  just  here,  the  boat's  turned  over  toward 
the  water — and  I'll  lower  her  down  to  you.  I'll  let 
a  rope  over  the  sides.  You  can  hold  on  to  that  as 
you  go  down." 

I  got  over  the  bulwarks  and  let  myself  down  to 
the  ground.  Then  the  boarder  lifted  Euphemia  up 
and  slipped  her  over  the  side,  holding  to  her  hands, 
and  letting  her  gently  down  until  I  could  reach  her. 
She  said  never  a  word,  but  screamed  at  times.  I 
carried  her  a  little  way  up  the  shore  and  set  her 
down.  I  wanted  to  take  her  up  to  a  house  near  by, 
where  we  bought  our  milk,  but  she  declined  to  go 
until  we  had  saved  Pomona. 

So  I  went  back  to  the  boat,  after  having  carefully 
wrapped  up  Euphemia,  to  endeavor  to  save  the  girl. 
I  found  that  the  boarder  had  so  arranged  the  gang- 
plank that  it  was  possible,  without  a  very  great 
exercise  of  agility,  to  pass  from  the  shore  to  the 
boat.  When  I  first  saw  him,  on  reaching  the  shelv- 
ing deck,  he  was  staggering  -up  the  stairs  with  a 
dining-room  chair  and  a  large  framed  engraving  of 
Raphael's  Dante — an  ugly  picture,  but  full  of  true 
feeling;  at  least,  so  Euphemia  always  declared, 
though  I  am  not  quite  sure  that  I  know  what  she 
meant. 

"Where  is  Pomona?"  I  said,  endeavoring  to 
stand  on  the  hill-side  of  the  deck. 


68 


Rudder  Grange. 


11 1  don't  know,"  said  he,  "  but 
we  must  get  the  things  out.  The 
tide's  rising  and  the  wind's  getting 
up.  The  boat  will  go  over  before 
we  know  it." 

"  But  we  must  find  the  girl," 
I  said.  "  She  can't  be  left  to 
drown." 

"  I  don't  think  it  would  matter 
much,"  said  he,  getting  over  the 
side  of  the  boat  with  his  awkward 
load.  "  She  would  be  of  about  as 
much  use  drowned  as  any  other 
way.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  that 
hole  she  cut  in  the  side  of  the 
boat,  this  would  never  have  hap- 
pened." 

"  You  don't  think  it  was  that !  " 
I  said,  holding  the  picture  and  the 
chair  while  he  let  himself  down  to 
the  gang-plank. 

"  Yes,  it  was,"  he  replied.  "  The 
tide's  very  high,  and  the  water 
got  over  that  hole  and  rushed  in. 
The  water  and  the  wind  will  finish 
this  old  craft  before  very  long." 

And  then  he  took  his  load  from 
me  and  dashed  down  the  gang- 
plank. I  went  below  to  look  for 


Rudder  Grange.  69 

Pomona.  The  lantern  still  hung  on  the  nail,  and  I 
took  it  down  and  went  into  the  kitchen.  There  was 
Pomona,  dressed,  and^  with  her  hat  on,  quietly  pack- 
ing some  things  in  a  basket. 

"  Come,  hurry  out  of  this,"  I  cried.  "  Don't  you 
know  that  this  house — this  boat,  I  mean — is  a 
wreck?" 

"Yes,  sma'am — sir,  I  mean — I  know  it,  and  I  sup- 
pose we  shall  soon  be  at  the  mercy  of  the  waves." 

"  Well,  then,  go  as  quickly  as  you  can.  What  are 
you  putting  in  that  basket  ?" 

"  Food,"  she  said.     "  We  may  need  it." 

I  took  her  by  the  shoulder  and  hurried  her  on 
deck,  over  the  bulwark,  down  the  gang-plank,  and 
so  on  to  the  place  where  I  had  left  Euphemia. 

I  found  the  dear  girl  there,  quiet  and  collected, 
gathered  up  in  a  little  bunch,  to  shield  herself  from 
the  wind.  I  wasted  no  time,  but  hurried  her  over 
to  the  house  of  our  milk-merchant.  There,  with 
some  difficulty,  I  roused  the  good  woman,  and  after 
seeing  Euphemia  and  Pomona  safely  in  the  house, 
I  left  them  to  tell  the  tale,  and  ran  back  to  the  boat. 

The  boarder  was  working  like  a  Trojan.  He  had 
already  a  pile  of  our  furniture  on  the  beach. 

I  set  about  helping  him,  and  for  an  hour  we 
labored  at  this  hasty  and  toilsome  moving.  It  was 
indeed  a  toilsome  business.  The  floors  were  shelv- 
ing, the  stairs  leaned  over  sidewise,  and  the  gang- 
plank was  desperately  short  and  steep. 


70  Rudder  Grange. 

Still,  we  saved  quite  a  number  of  household 
articles.  Some  things  we  broke  and  some  we  forgot, 
and  some  were  too  big  to  move  in  this  way ;  but  we 
did  very  well,  considering  the  circumstances. 

The  wind  roared,  the  tide  rose,  and  the  boat 
groaned  and  creaked.  We  were  in  the  kitchen,  try- 
ing to  take  the  stove  apart  (the  boarder  was  sure 
we  could  carry  it  up  if  we  could  get  the  pipe  out 
and  the  legs  and  doors  off),  when  we  heard  a  crash. 
We  rushed  on  deck  and  found  that  the  garden  had 
fallen  in  !  Making  our  way  as  well  as  we  could  to- 
ward the  gaping  rent  in  the  deck,  we  saw  that  the 
turnip-bed  had  gone  down  bodily  into  the  boarder's 
room.  He  did  not  hesitate,  but  scrambled  down 
his  narrow  stairs.  I  followed  him.  He  struck  a 
match,  and  lighted  a  little  lantern  which  hung  under 
the  stairs.  His  room  was  a  perfect  rubbish  heap. 
The  floor,  bed,  chairs,  pitcher,  basin — everything 
was  covered  or  filled  with  garden  mold  and  turnips. 
Never  did  I  behold  such  a  scene.  He  stood  in  the 
midst  of  it,  holding  his  lantern  high  above  his  head. 
At  length  he  spoke. 

"  If  we  had  time,"  he  said,  "  we  might  come  down 
here  and  pick  out  a  lot  of  turnips." 

"But  how  about  your  furniture?"  I  exclaimed. 

"  Oh,  that's  ruined!  "  he  replied. 

So  we  did  not  attempt  to  save  any  of  it,  but  we 
pulled  out  his  trunk  and  carried  that  on  shore. 

When  we  returned,  we  found  that  the  water  was 


Rudder  Grange.  7 1 

pouring  through  his  partition,  making  the  room  a 
lake  of  mud.  And,  as  the  water  was  rising  rapidly 
below,  and  the  boat  was  keeling  over  more  and 
more,  we  thought  it  was  time  to  leave,  and  we 
left. 

It  would  not  do  to  go  far  away  from  our  posses- 
sions, which  were  piled  up  in  a  sad-looking  heap  on 
the  shore  ;  and  so,  after  I  had  gone  over  to  the  milk- 
woman's  house  to  assure  Euphemia  of  our  safety, 
the  boarder  and  I  passed  the  rest  of  the  night — 
there  was  not  much  of  it  left — in  walking  up  and 
down  the  beach  smoking  some  cigars  which  he 
fortunately  had  in  his  pocket. 

In  the  morning  I  took  Euphemia  to  the  hotel, 
about  a  mile  away,  and  arranged  for  the  storage  of 
our  furniture  there  until  we  could  find  another 
habitation.  This  habitation,  we  determined,  was  to 
be  in  a  substantial  house,  or  part  of  a  house,  which 
should  not  be  affected  by  the  tides. 

During  the  morning  the  removal  of  our  effects 
was  successfully  acomplished,  and  our  boarder  went 
to  town  to  look  for  a  furnished  room.  He  had 
nothing  but  his  trunk  to  take  to  it. 

In  the  afternoon,  leaving  Euphemia  at  the  hotel, 
where  she  was  taking  a  nap  (she  certainly  needed  it, 
for  she  had  spent  the  night  in  a  wooden  rocking- 
chair  at  the  milk-woman's),  I  strolled  down  to  the 
river  to  take  a  last  look  at  the  remains  of  old  Rud- 
der Grange. 


72  Rudder  Grange. 

I  felt  sadly  enough  as  I  walked  along  the  well- 
worn  path  to  the  canal-boat,  and  thought  how  it  had 
been  worn  by  my  feet  more  than  any  other's,  and 
how  gladly  I  had  walked  that  way  so  often  during 
that  delightful  summer.  I  forgot  all  that  had  been 
disagreeable,  and  thought  only  of  the  happy  times 
we  had  had. 

It  was  a  beautiful  autumn  afternoon,  and  the  wind 
had  entirely  died  away.  When  I  came  within  sight 
of  our  old  home  it  presented  a  doleful  appearance. 
The  bow  had  drifted  out  into  the  river,  and  was 
almost  entirely  under  water.  The  stern  stuck  up  in 
a  mournful  and  ridiculous  manner,  with  its  keel,  in- 
stead of  its  broadside,  presented  to  the  view  of^  per- 
sons on  the  shore.  As  I  neared  the  boat  I  heard  a 
voice.  I  stopped  and  listened.  There  was  no  one 
in  sight.  Could  the  sounds  come  from  the  boat  ? 
I  concluded  that  it  must  be  so,  and  I  walked  up 
closer.  Then  I  heard  distinctly  the  words : 

"He  grasp  ed  her  by  the  thro  at  and  yell  ed, 
swear  to  me  thou  nev  er  wilt  re  veal  my  se  cret,  or 
thy  hot  heart's  blood  shall  stain  this  mar  ble  flo  or; 
she  gave  one  gry  vy  ous  gasp  and " 

It  was  Pomona  ! 

Doubtless  she  had  climbed  up  the  stern  of  the 
boat  and  had  descended  into  the  depths  of  the  wreck 
to  rescue  her  beloved  book,  the  reading  of  which 
had  so  long  been  interrupted  by  my  harsh  decrees. 
Could  I  break  in  on  this  one  hour  of  rapture  ?  I 


Rudder  Grange. 


73 


had  not  the  heart  to  do  it,  and  as  I  slowly  moved 
away  there  came  to  me  the  last  words  that  I  ever 
heard  from  Rudder  Grange : 

"  And  with  one  wild  shry  ik  to  heav  en  her  heart's 
bio  od  spat  ter  ed  that  prynce  ly  home  of  woe " 


/A 


CHAPTER  VI. 
The  New  Rudder  Grange. 


HAVE  before  given  an  account  of  the 
difficulties  we  encountered  when  we 
started  out  house-hunting,  and  it  was 
this  doleful  experience  which  made  Eu- 
phemia  declare  that  before  we  began  on  a  second 
search  for  a  residence  we  should  know  exactly  what 
we  wanted. 

To  do  this,  we  must  know  how  other  people  live 
— we  must  examine  into  the  advantages  and  disad- 
vantages of  the  various  methods  of  housekeeping, 
and  make  up  our  minds  on  the  subject. 

When  we  came  to  this  conclusion  we  were  in  a 
city  boarding-house,  and  were  entirely  satisfied  that 
this  style  of  living  did  not  suit  us  at  all. 

At  this  juncture  I  received  a  letter  from  our 
boarder.  Shortly  after  leaving  us  the  previous 


Rudder  Grange.  75 

autumn  he  had  married  a  widow  lady  with  two 
children,  and  was  now  keeping  house  in  a  French 
flat  in  the  upper  part  of  the  city.  We  had  called 
upon  the  happy  couple  soon  after  their  marriage, 
and  the  letter,  now  received,  contained  an  invitation 
for  us  to  dine,  and  spend  the  night. 

"We'll  go,"  said  Euphemia.  "  There's  nothing  I 
want  so  much  as  to  see  how  people  keep  house  in  a 
French  flat.  Perhaps  we'll  like  it.  And  I  must  see 
those  children."  So  we  went. 

The  house,  as  Euphemia  remarked,  was  anything 
but  flat.  It  was  very  tall  indeed — the  tallest  house 
in  the  neighborhood.  We  entered  the  vestibule, 
the  outer  door  being  open,  and  beheld,  on  one  side 
of  us,  a  row  of  bell-handles.  Above  each  of  these 
handles  was  the  mouth  of  a  speaking-tube,  and 
above  each  of  these,  a  little  glazed  frame  containing 
a  visiting-card. 

"  Isn't  this  nice  ? "  said  Euphemia,  reading  over 
the  cards.  "  Here's  his  name,  and  this  is  his  bell 
and  tube!  Which  would  you  do  first,  ring  or 
blow?" 

"My  dear,"  said  I,  "you  don't  blow  up  those 
tubes.  We  must  ring  the  bell,  just  as  if  it  were  an 
ordinary  front-door  bell,  and  instead  of  coming  to 
the  door,  some  one  will  call  down  the  tube  to  us." 

I  rang  the  bell  under  the  boarder's  name,  and 
very  soon  a  voice  at  the  tube  said  : 

"  Well  ?  " 


Rudder  Grange. 


"  He  men- 
that in   his 


Then  I  told  our  names,  and  in  an  instant  the  front 
door  opened. 

"  Why,  their  flat  must  be  just  here,"  whispered 
Euphemia.  "How  quickly  the  servant  came!" 

And  she  looked  for 
the  servant  as  we 
entered.  But  there 
was  no  one  there. 

"  Their  flat  is  on 
the  fifth  story," 
said  I. 
tioned 

letter.  We  had  bet- 
ter shut  the  door 
and  go  up." 

Up  and  up  the 
softly  carpeted 
stairs  we  climbed, 
and  not  a  soul  we 
saw  or  heard. 

"  It  is  like  an  en- 
ch  anted  cavern," 
said  Euphemia. 
"  You  say  the  magic 
word,  the  door  in  the  rock  opens,  and  you  go  on 
and  on,  through  the  vaulted  passages  -  " 

"  Until  you  come  to  the  ogre,"  said  the  boarder, 
who  was  standing  at  the  top  of  the  stairs.  He  did 
not  behave  at  all  like  an  ogre,  for  he  was  very  glad 


Rudder  Grange.  77 

to  see  us,  and  so  was  his  wife.  After  we  had  set- 
tled down  in  the  parlor,  and  the  boarder's  wife  had 
gone  to  see  about  something  concerning  the  dinner, 
Euphemia  asked  after  the  children. 

"I  hope  they  haven't  gone  to  bed,"  she -said, 
"  for  I  do  so  want  to  see  the  dear  little  things." 

The  ex-boarder,  as  Euphemia  called  him,  smiled 
grimly. 

"  They're  not  so  very  little,"  he  said.  "  My  wife's 
son  is  nearly  grown.  He  is  at  an  academy  in  Con- 
necticut, and  he  expects  to  go  into  a  civil  engineer's 
office  in  the  spring.  His  sister  is  older  than  he  is. 
My  wife  married — in  the  first  instance — when  she 
was  very  young — very  young  indeed." 

"  Oh  ! "  said  Euphemia  ;  and  then,  after  a  pause, 
"  And  neither  of  them  is  at  home  now  ?  " 

"No,"  said  the  ex-boarder.  "  By  the  way,  what 
do  you  think  of  this  dado  ?  It  is  a  portable  one  ;  I 
devised  it  myself.  You  can  take  it  away  wfth  you 
to  another  house  when  you  move.  But  there  is  the 
dinner-bell.  I'll  show  you  over  the  establishment 
after  we  have  had  something  to  eat. 

After  dinner  we  made  a  tour  of  inspection.  The 
flat,  which  included  the  whole  floor,  contained  nine 
or  ten  rooms,  of  all  shapes  and  sizes.  The  corners 
in  some  of  the  rooms  were  cut  off  and  shaped  up 
into  closets  and  recesses,  so  that  Euphemia  said  the 
corners  of  every  room  were  in  some  other  room. 

Near  the  back  of  the  flat  was  a  dumb-waiter,  with 


78  Rudder  Grange. 

bells  and  speaking-tubes.  When  the  butcher,  the 
baker,  or  the  kerosene-lamp  maker,  came  each  morn- 
ing, he  rang  the  bell,  and  called  up  the  tube  to  know 
what  was  wanted.  The  order  was  called  down,  and 
he  brought  the  things  in  the  afternoon. 

All  this  greatly  charmed  Euphemia.  It  was  so 
easy,  so  complete.  There  were  no  interviews  with 
disagreeable  tradespeople — none  of  the  ordinary 
annoyances  of  housekeeping.  Everything  seemed 
to  be  done  with  a  bell,  a  speaking-tube,  or  a  crank. 

"  Indeed,"  said  the  ex-boarder,  "  if  it  were  not  for 
people  tripping  over  the  wires,  I  could  rig  up  attach- 
ments by  which  I  could  sit  in  the  parlor,  and  by 
using  pedals  and  a  key-board,  I  could  do  all  the 
work  of  this  house  without  getting  out  of  my  easy- 
chair." 

One  of  the  most  peculiar  features  of  the  establish- 
ment was  the  servant's  room.  This  was  at  the  rear 
end  of  the  floor,  and  as  there  was  not  much  space 
left  after  the  other  rooms  had  been  made,  it  was 
very  small ;  so  small,  indeed,  that  it  would  accom- 
modate only  a  very  short  bedstead.  This  made  it 
necessary  for  our  friends  to  consider  the  size  of  the 
servant  when  they  engaged  her. 

"  There  were  several  excellent  girls  at  the  intel- 
ligence office  where  I  called,"  said  the  ex-boarder, 
"  but  I  measured  them,  and  they  were  all  too  tall. 
So  we  had  to  take  a  short  one,  who  is  only  so-so. 
There  was  one  big  Scotch  girl,  who  was  the  very 


Rudder  Grange. 


79 


person  for  us,  and  I  would  have  taken  her  if  my 
wife  had  not  objected  to  my  plan  for  her  accommo- 
dation." 

"  What  was  that  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  first  thought  of  cutting  a  hole 
in  the  partition  wall  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  for  her 
to  put  her  feet  through." 

"  Never  !  "  said  his  wife,  emphatically.  "  I  would 
never  have  allowed  that." 

"And  then,"  continued 
he,  "  I  thought  of  turning 
the  bed  around,  and  cut- 
ting a  larger  hole,  through 
which  she  might  have  put 
her  head  into  the  little 
room  on  this  side.  A  low 
table  could  have  stood  un- 
der the  hole,  and  her  head 
might  have  rested  on  a  cushion  on  the  table  very 
comfortably." 

"  My  dear,"  said  his  wife,  "  it  would  have  fright- 
ened me  to  death  to  go  into  that  room  and  see  that 
head  on  a  cushion  on  a  table " 

"  Like  John  the  Baptist,"  interrupted  Euphemia. 

"  Well,"  said  our  ex-boarder,  "  the  plan  would 
have  had  its  advantages." 

"  Oh !  "  cried  Euphemia,  looking  out  of  a  back 
window.  "  What  a  lovely  little  iron  balcony  !  Do 
you  sit  out  there  on  warm  evenings  ?  " 


8o  Rudder  Grange. 

"  That's  a  fire-escape,"  said  the  ex-boarder.  "  We 
don't  go  out  there  unless  it  is  very  hot  indeed,  on 
account  of  the  house  being  on  fire.  You  see  there 
is  a  little  door  in  the  floor  of  the  balcony  and  an  iron 
ladder  leading  to  the  balcony  beneath,  and  so  on, 
down  to  the  first  story." 

"  And  you  have  to  creep  through  that  hole  and 
go  down  that  dreadful  steep  ladder  every  time  there 
is  a  fire?  "  said  Euphemia. 

"  Well,  I  guess  we  would  never  go  down  but 
once,"  he  answered. 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  Euphemia  ;  "  you'd  fall  down 
and  break  your  neck  the  first  time,"  and  she  turned 
away  from  the  window  with  a  very  grave  expression 
on  her  face. 

Soon  after  this  our  hostess  conducted  Euphemia 
to  the  guest-chamber,  while  her  husband  and  I 
finished  a  bed-time  cigar. 

When  I  joined  Euphemia  in  her  room,  she  met 
me  with  a  mysterious  expression  on  her  face.  She 
shut  the  door,  and  then  said,  in  a  very  earnest  tone : 

"  Do  you  see  that  little  bedstead  in  the  corner? 
I  did  not  notice  it  until  I  came  in  just  now,  and  then 
being  quite  astonished,  I  said,  'Why  here's  a  child's 
bed  ;  who  sleeps  here?'  *  Oh,'  says  she,  'that's  our 
little  Adele's  bedstead.  We  have  it  in  our  room 
when  she's  here.'  '  Little  Adele  ! '  said  I,  '  I  didn't 
know  she  was  little — not  small  enough  for  that  bed, 
at  any  rate.'  '  Why,  yes,'  said  she,  'Adele  is  only 


Rudder  Grange.  81 

four  years  old.  The  bedstead  is  quite  large  enough 
for  her.'  '  And  she  is  not  here  now  ?  '  I  said,  ut- 
terly amazed  at  all  this.  '  No,'  she  answered,  '  she 
is  not  here  now,  but  we  try  to  have  her  with  us  as 
much  as  we  can,  and  always  keep  her  little  bed  ready 
for  her.'  *  I  suppose  she's  with  her  father's  people/ 
I  said,  and  she  answered,  '  Oh  yes,'  and  bade  me 
good-night.  What  does  all  this  mean  ?  Our  boarder 
told  us  that  the  daughter  is  grown  up,  and  here  his 
wife  declares  that  she  is  only  four  years  old  !  I 
don't  know  what  in  the  world  to  make  of  this  mys- 
tery ! " 

I  could  give  Euphemia  no  clue.  I  supposed 
there  was  some  mistake,  and  that  was  all  I  could 
say,  except  that  I  was  sleepy,  and  that  we  could 
find  out  all  about  it  in  the  morning.  But  Euphe- 
mia could  not  dismiss  the  subject  from  her  mind. 
She  said  no  more  ;  but  I  could  see — until  I  fell 
asleep — that  she  was  thinking  about  it. 

It  must  have  been  about  the  middle  of  the  night, 
perhaps  later,  when  I  was  suddenly  awakened  by 
Euphemia  starting  up  in  the  bed,  with  the  exclama- 
tion : 

"  I  have  it !  " 

u  What  ? "  I  cried,  sitting  up  in  a  great  hurry. 
"  What  is  it  ?  What  have  you  got  ?  What's  the 
matter  ?  " 

"  I  know  it !  "  she  said  ;  "  I  know  it.  Our  boarder 
is  a  grandfather!  Little  Adele  is  the  grown-up 


82  Rudder  Grange. 

daughter's  child.  He  was  quite  particular  to  say 
that  his  wife  married  very  young.  Just  to  think  of 
it.  So  short  a  time  ago  he  was  living  with  us — a 
bachelor — and  now,  in  four  short  months,  he  is  a 
grandfather ! "' 

Carefully  propounded  inquiries,  in  the  morning, 
proved  Euphemia's  conclusions  to  be  correct. 

The  next  evening,  when  we  were  quietly  sitting 
in  our  own  room,  Euphemia  remarked  that  she 
did  not  wish  to  have  anything  to  do  with  French 
flats. 

"  They  seem  to  be  very  convenient,"  I  said. 

"  Oh  yes,  convenient  enough,"  but  I  don't  like 
them.  I  would  hate  to  live  where  everything  let 
down  like  a  table-lid,  or  else  turned  with  a  crank. 
And  when  I  think  of  those  fire-escapes,  and  the 
boarder's  grandchild,  it  makes  me  feel  very  unpleas- 
antly." 

"  But  the  grandchild  don't  follow  as  a  matter  of 
course,"  said  I. 

"No,"  she  answered;  "but  I  shall  never  like 
French  flats." 

And  we  discussed  them  no  more. 

For  some  weeks  we  examined  into  every  style  of 
economic  and  respectable  housekeeping,  and  many 
methods  of  living  in  what  Euphemia  called  "  imita- 
tion comfort "  were  set  aside  as  unworthy  of  consid- 
eration. 

"My  dear,"  said  Euphemia,  one  evening,  "what 


Rudder  Grange.  83 

we  really  ought  to  do  is  to  build.  Then  we  would 
have  exactly  the  house  we  want." 

"  Very  true/'  I  replied  ;  "  but  to  build  a  house, 
a  man  must  have  money." 

"  Oh  no  !  "  said  she,  "  or  at  least  not  much.  For 
one  thing,  you  might  join  a  building  association.  In 
some  of  those  societies  I  know  that  you  only  have 
to  pay  a  dollar  a  week." 

"  But  do  you  suppose  the  association  builds 
houses  for  all  its  members  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Of  course  I  suppose  so.  Else  why  is  it  called  a 
building  association  ?  " 

I  had  read  a  good  deal  about  these  organizations, 
and  I  explained  to  Euphemia  that  a  dollar  a  week 
was  never  received  by  any  of  them  in  payment  for  a 
new  house. 

"Then  build  yourself,"  she  said;  "I  know  how 
that  can  be  done." 

"  Oh,  it's  easy  enough,"  I  remarked,  "  if  you  have 
the  money." 

"  No,  you  needn't  have  any  money,"  said  Eu- 
phemia, rather  hastily.  "  Just  let  me  show  you. 
Supposing,  for  instance,  that  you  want  to  build  a 
house  worth — well,  say  twenty  thousand  dollars,  in 
some  pretty  town  near  the  city." 

"  I  would  rather  calculate  for  a  cheaper  house  than 
that  in  a  country  place,"  I  interrupted. 

"  Well  then,  say  two  thousand  dollars.  You  get 
masons,  and  carpenters,  and  people  to  dig  the  cellar, 


84  Rudder  Grange. 

and  you  engage  them  to  build  your  house.  You 
needn't  pay  them  until  it's  done,  of  course.  Then 
when  it's  all  finished,  borrow  two  thousand  dollars 
and  give  the  house  as  security.  After  that,  you  see, 
you  have  only  to  pay  the  interest  on  the  borrowed 
money.  When  you  save  enough  money  to  pay 
back  the  loan,  the  house  is  your  own.  Now,  isn't 
that  a  good  plan  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  if  there  could  be  found  people 
who  would  build  your  house  and  wait  for  their 
money  until  some  one  would  lend  you  its  full  value 
on  a  mortage." 

"  Well,"  said  Euphemia,  "  I  guess  they  could  be 
found  if  you  would  only  look  for  them." 

"  I'll  look  for  them,  when  I  go  to  heaven,"  I  said. 

We  gave  up  for  the  present,  the  idea  of  building 
or  buying  a  house,  and  determined  to  rent  a  small 
place  in  the  country,  and  then,  as  Euphemia  wisely 
said,  if  we  liked  it,  we  might  buy  it.  After  she  had 
dropped  her  building  projects  she  thought  that  one 
ought  to  know  just  how  a  house  would  suit  before 
having  it  on  one's  hands. 

We  could  afford  something  better  than  a  canal- 
boat  now,  and  therefore  we  were  not  so  restricted  as 
in  our  first  search  for  a  house.  But,  the  one  thing 
which  troubled  my  wife — and,  indeed,  caused  me 
much  anxious  thought,  was  that  scourge  of  almost 
all  rural  localities — tramps.  It  would  be  necessary 
for  me  to  be  away  all  day, — and  we  could  not  afford 


Rudder  Grange.  85 

to  keep  a  man, — so  we  must  be  careful  to  get  a 
house  somewhere  off  the  line  of  ordinary  travel,  or 
else  in  a  well-settled  neighborhood,  where  there 
would  be  some  one  near  at  hand  in  case  of  unruly 
visitors. 

"  A  village  I  don't  like,"  said  Euphemia  :  "  there 
is  always  so  much  gossip,  and  people  know  all  about 
what  you  have,  and  what  you  do.  And  yet  it  would 
be  very  lonely,  and  perhaps  dangerous,  for  us  to  live 
off  somewhere,  all  by  ourselves.  And  there  is  another 
objection  to  a  village.  We  don't  want  a  house  with 
a  small  yard  and  a  garden  at  the  back.  We  ought 
to  have  a  dear  little  farm,  with  some  fields  for  corn, 
and  a  cow,  and  a  barn,  and  things  of  that  sort.  All 
that  would  be  lovely.  I'll  tell  you  what  we  want," 
she  cried,  with  a  sudden  inspiration ;  u  we  ought  to 
try  to  -get  the  end-house  of  a  village.  Then  our 
house  could  be  near  the  neighbors,  and  our  farm 
could  stretch  out  a  little  way  into  the  country  beyond 
us.  Let  us  fix  our  minds  upon  such  a  house  and  I 
believe  we  can  get  it." 

So  we  fixed  our  minds,  but  in  the  course  of  a  week 
or  two  we  unfixed  them  several  times  to  allow  the 
consideration  of  places,  which  otherwise  would  have 
been  out  of  range ;  and  during  one  of  these  intervals 
of  mental  disfixment  we  took  a  house. 

It  was  not  the  end-house  of  a  village,  but  it  was 
in  the  outskirts  of  a  very  small  rural  settlement. 
Our  nearest  neighbor  was  within  vigorous  shouting 


86  Rudder  Grange. 

distance,  and  the  place  suited  us  so  well  in  other  re- 
spects, that  we  concluded  that  this  was  near  enough. 
The  house  was  small,  but  sufficiently  large  for  us. 
There  were  some  trees  about  it,  and  a  little  lawn  in 
front.  There  was  a  garden,  a  small  barn  and  stable, 
a  pasture  field,  and  land  enough  besides  for  small 
patches  of  corn  and  potatoes.  The  rent  was  low,  the 
water  good,  and  no  one  can  imagine  how  delighted 
we  were. 

We  did  not  furnish  the  whole  house  at  first,  but 
what  mattered  it  ?  We  had  no  horse  or  cow,  but  the 
pasture  and  barn  were  ready  for  them.  We  did  not 
propose  to  begin  with  everything  at  once. 

Our  first  evening  in  that  house  was  made  up  of 
hours  of  unalloyed  bliss.  We  walked  from  room  to 
room ;  we  looked  out  on  the  garden  and  the  lawn ; 
we  sat  on  the  little  porch  while  I  smoked  a  pipe  of 
perfect  peace. 

"  We  were  happy  at  Rudder  Grange,"  said  Eu- 
phemia ;  "  but  that  was  only  a  canal-boat,  and  could 
not,  in  the  nature  of  things,  have  been  a  permanent 
home." 

"  No,"  said  I, "  it  could  not  have  been  permanent. 
But,  in  many  respects,  it  was  a  delightful  home. 
The  very  name  of  it  brings  pleasant  thoughts." 

"  It  was  a  nice  name,"  said  Euphemia,  "  and  I'll 
tell  you  what  we  can  do :  let  us  call  this  place  Rud- 
der Grange — the  New  Rudder  Grange  !  The  name 
will  do  just  as  well  for  a  house  as  for  a  boat." 


Rudder  Grange. 


I  agreed  on  the  spot,  and  the  house  was  chris- 
tened. 

Our  household  was  small ;  we  had  a  servant — a 
German  woman  ;  and  we  had  ourselves,  that  was 
all. 

I  did  not  do  much  in  the  garden  ;  it  was  too  late 
in  the  season.  The  former  occupant  had  planted 
some  corn  and  potatoes,  with  a  few  other  vegetables, 
and  these  I  weeded  and  hoed,  working  early  in  the 
morning  and  when  I  came  home  in 
the  afternoon.  Euphemia  tied  up 
the  rose-vines,  trimmed  the  bushes, 
and  with  a  little  rake  and  hoe  she 
prepared  a  flower-bed  in  front  of 
the  parlor-window.  This  exercise 
gave  us  fine  appetites,  and  we  loved 
our  new  home  more  and  more. 

Our  German  girl  did  not  suit  us 
exactly  at  first,  and  day  by  day  she 
grew  to  suit  us  less.  She  was  a 
quiet,  kindly,  pleasant  creature,  and  delighted  in  an 
out-of-door  life.  She  was  as  willing  to  weed  in  the 
garden  as  she  was  to  cook  or  wash.  At  first  I  was 
very  much  pleased  with  this,  because,  as  I  remarked 
to  Euphemia,  one  can  find  very  few  girls  who  are  will- 
ing to  work  in  the  garden,  and  she  might  be  made 
very  useful. 

But,  after  a  time,  Euphemia  began  to  get  a  little 
out  of  patience  with  her.  She  worked  out-of-doors 


88  Rudder  Grange. 

entirely  too  much.  And  what  she  did  there,  as  well 
as  some  of  her  work  in  the  house,  was  very  much  like 
certain  German  literature — you  did  know  how  it  was 
done,  or  what  it  was  for. 

One  afternoon  I  found  Euphemia  quite  annoyed. 

"  Look  here/'  she  said,  "  and  see  what  that  girl  has 
been  at  work  at  nearly  all  this  afternoon.  I  was 
up-stairs  sewing  and  thought  she  was  ironing.  Isn't 
it  too  provoking?" 

It  was  provoking.  The  contemplative  German 
had  collected  a  lot  of  short  ham-bones — where  she 
found  them  I  cannot  imagine — and  had  made  of 
them  a  border  around  my  wife's  flower-bed.  The 
bones  stuck  up  perpendicularly  a  few  inches  above 
the  ground,  all  along  the  edge  of  the  bed,  and  the 
marrow  cavity  was  rilled  with  earth,  in  which  she 
had  planted  seeds. 

"  These,  she  says,  will  spring  up  and  look  beauti- 
ful," said  Euphemia  ;  "  they  have  that  style  of  thing 
in  her  country." 

"  Then  let  her  take  them  off  with  her  to  her 
country,"  I  exclaimed. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Euphemia,  hurriedly,  "  don't  kick 
them  out ;  it  would  only  wound  her  feelings.  She 
did  it  all  for  the  best,  and  thought  it  would  please 
me  to  have  such  a  border  around  my  bed.  But  she 
is  too  independent,  and  neglects  her  proper  work. 
I  will  give  her  a  week's  notice  and  get  another 
servant.  When  she  goes  we  can  take  these  horrid 


Rudder  Grange.  89 

bones  away.  But  I  hope  nobody  will  call  on  us  in 
the  mean  time." 

"  Must  we  keep  these  things  here  a  whole  week?" 
I  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  can't  turn  her  away  without  giving  her  a 
fair  notice.  That  would  be  cruel." 

I  saw  the  truth  of  the  remark,  and  determined 
to  bear  with  the  bones  and  with  her  rather  than  be 
unkind. 

That  night  Euphemia  informed  the  girl  of  her 
decision,  and  the  next  morning,  soon  after  I  had 
left,  the  good  German  appeared  with  her  bonnet  on, 
and  her  bundle  in  her  hand,  to  take  leave  of  her 
mistress. 

"  What !  "  cried  Euphemia.  "  You  are  not  going 
to-day  ?  " 

"  If  it  is  goot  to  go  at  all  it  is  goot  to  go  now," 
said  the  girl. 

"  And  you  will  go  off  and  leave  me  without  any 
one  in  the  house,  after  my  inconveniencing  myself 
to  give  you  a  fair  notice  ?  It's  shameful !  " 

"  I  think  it  is  very  goot  for  me  to  go  now,"  was 
the  quiet  reply.  "  This  house  is  very  loneful.  I 
will  go  to-morrow  in  the  city  to  see  your  husband 
for  my  money.  Goot-morning."  And  off  she 
trudged  to  the  station. 

Before  I  reached  the  house  that  afternoon,  Eu- 
phemia rushed  out  to  tell  this  story.  I  would  not 
like  to  say  how  far  I  kicked  those  ham-bones. 


9o 


Rudder  Grange. 


This  German  girl  had  several  successors,  and  some 
of  them  suited  as  badly  and  left  as  abruptly  as  her- 
self;  but  Euphemia  never  forgot  the  ungrateful  stab 
given  her  by  this  "  ham-bone  girl,"  as  she  always 
called  her.  It  was  her  first  wound  of  the  kind,  and 
it  came  in  the  very  beginning  of  the  campaign,  when 
she  was  all  unused  to  this  domestic  warfare. 


CHAPTER  VII. 
An  Unsuccessful  ^Broker  and  a  Ttog. 


T  was  a  couple  of  weeks,  or  thereabouts, 
after  this  episode  that  Euphemia  came 
down  to  the  gate  to  meet  me  on  my 
return  from  the  city.     I  noticed  a  very 
peculiar  expression   on   her   face.     She 
looked  both  thoughtful  and  pleased.     Almost  the 
first  words  she  said  to  me  were  these : 
"  A  tramp  came  here  to-day." 
"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that,"  I  exclaimed.     "  That's 
the  worst  news  I  have  had  yet.    I  hoped  very  much 
that  we  were  far  enough  from  the  line  of  travel  to 
escape  these  scourges.    How  did  you  get  rid  of  him  ? 
Was  he  impertinent  ?  " 

"You  must  not  feel  that  way  about  all  tramps," 
said  she.  "  Sometimes  they  are  deserving  of  our 
charity,  and  ought  to  be  helped.  There  is  a  great 
difference  in  them." 


92 


Rudder  Grange, 


"  That  may  be,"  I  said ;  "  but  what  of  this  one  ? 
When  was  he  here,  and  when  did  he  go  ?  " 
"  He  did  not  go  at  all.     He  is  here  now." 
"  Here  now  !  "  I  cried.     "  Where  is  he  ?" 
"  Do   not    call  out    so   loudly,"    said    Euphemia, 
putting  her  hand    on   my  arm. 
"  You  will  waken  him.     He  is 
asleep." 

"Asleep!"    said    I.      "A 
tramp?     Here?" 

"  Yes.     Stop,  let  me  tell  you 
about   him.      He  told    me    his 
story,  and  it  is  a  sad  one.     He 
is  a  middle-aged  man — fifty  per- 
haps— and  has  been  rich.     He 
was    once    a    broker    in    Wall 
Street,  but  lost  money  by  the 
failure  of  various  railroads — the 
-•  Camden  and  Amboy,  for  one." 
"  That  hasn't  failed,"  I  inter- 
£  -^  rupted. 

"Well,  then  it  was  the 
Northern  Pacific,  or  some  other  one  of  them — at 
any  rate,  I  know  it  was  either  a  railroad  or  a  bank, 
— and  he  soon  became  very  poor.  He  has  a  son  in 
Cincinnati,  who  is  a  successful  merchant,  and  lives 
in  a  fine  house,  with  horses  and  carriages,  and  all 
that ;  and  this  poor  man  has  written  to  his  son, 
but  has  never  had  any  answer.  So  now  he  is  going 


Rudder  Grange.  93 

to  walk  to  Cincinnati  to  see  him.  He  knows  he 
will  not  be  turned  away  if  he  can  once  meet  his 
son,  face  to  face.  He  was  very  tired  when  he 
stopped  here, — and  he  has  ever  and  ever  so  far  to 
walk  yet,  you  know, — an$  so  after  I  had  given  him 
something  to  eat,  I  let  him  lie  down  in  the  outer 
kitchen,  on  that  roll  of  old  carpet  that  is  there.  I 
spread  it  out  for  him.  It  is  a  hard  bed  for  one  who 
has  known  comfort ;  but  he  seems  to  sleep  soundly." 

"  Let  me  see  him,"  said  I,  and  I  walked  back  to 
the  outer  kitchen. 

There  lay  the  unsuccessful  broker  fast  asleep. 
His  face,  which  was  turned  toward  me  as  I  entered, 
showed  that  it  had  been  many  days  since  he  had 
been  shaved,  and  his  hair  had  apparently  been  un- 
combed for  about  the  same  length  of  time.  His 
clothes  were  very  old,  and  a  good  deal  torn,  and  he 
wore  one  boot  and  one  shoe. 

"  Whew  !  "  said  I.  "  Have  you  .been  giving  him 
whisky  ?  " 

"  No,"  whispered  Euphemia,  "  of  course  not.  I 
noticed  that  smell,  and  he  §aid  he  had  been  cleaning 
his  clothes  with  alcohol." 

"They  needed  it,  I'm  sure,"  I  remarked,  as  I 
turned  away.  "And  now,"  said  I,  "where's  the  ser- 
vant?" 

"This  is  her  afternoon  out.  What  is  the  matter? 
You  look  frightened." 

"Oh,  I'm  not   frightened,  but  I   find  I  must  go 


94  Rudder  Grange. 

down  to  the  station  again.  Just  run  up  and  put  on 
your  bonnet.  It  will  be  a  nice  little  walk  for  you." 

I  had  been  rapidly  revolving  the  matter  in  my 
mind.  What  was  I  to  do  with  this  wretch  who  was 
now  asleep  in  my  outer  kitchen  ?  If  I  woke  him  up 
and  drove  him  off, — and  I  might  have  difficulty  in 
doing  it, — there  was  every  reason  to  believe  that  he 
would  not  go  far,  but  return  at  night  and  commit 
some  revengeful  act.  I  never  saw  a  more  sinister- 
looking  fellow.  And  he  was  certainly  drunk.  He 
must  not  be  allowed  to  wander  about  our  neighbor- 
hood. I  would  go  for  the  constable  and  have  him 
arrested. 

So  I  locked  the  door  from  the  kitchen  into  the 
house  and  then  the  outside  door  of  the  kitchen,  and 
when  my  wife  came  down  we  hurried  off.  On  the 
way  I  told  her  what  I  intended  to  do,  and  what  I 
thought  of  our  guest.  She  answered  scarcely  a  word, 
and  I  hoped  that  she  was  frightened.  I  think  she 
was. 

The  constable,  who  was  also  coroner  of  our  town- 
ship, had  gone  to  a  creek,  three  miles  away,  to  hold 
an  inquest,  and  there  was  nobody  to  arrest  the  man. 
The  nearest  police-station  was  at  Hackingford,  six 
miles  away,  on  the  railroad.  I  held  a  consultation 
with  the  station-master,  and  the  owner  of  the  grocery- 
store  opposite. 

They  could  think  of  nothing  to  be  done  except  to 
shoot  the  man,  and  to  that  I  objected. 


Rudder  Grange. 


95 


"  However,"  said  I,  "  he  can't  stay  there  ;  "  and  a 
happy  thought  just  then  striking  me,  I  called  to  the 
boy  who  drove  the  village  express-wagon,  and  en- 
gaged him  for  a  job.  The  wagon  was  standing  at 
the  station,  and,  to  save  time,  I  got  in  and  drove  to 
my  house.  Euphemia  went  over  to  visit  the  gro- 
ceryman's  wife  until  I 
returned. 

I  had  determined 
that  the  man  should  be 
taken  away,  although, 
until  I  was  driving 
home,  I  had  not  made 
up  my  mind  where  to 
have  him  taken.  But 
on  the  road  I  settled 
this  matter. 

On  reaching  the 
house,  we  drove  into 
the  yard  as  close  to  the 
kitchen  as  we  could  go.  Then  I  unlocked  the 
door,  and  the  boy — who  was  a  big,  strapping  fellow 
— entered  with  me.  We  found  the  ex-broker  still 
wrapped  in  the  soundest  slumber.  Leaving  the  boy 
to  watch  him,  I  went  up-stairs  and  got  a  baggage- 
tag  which  I  directed  to  the  chief  of  police  at  the 
police-station  at  Hackingford.  I  returned  to  the 
kitchen  and  fastened  this  tag,  conspicuously,  on 
the  lappel  of  the  sleeper's  coat.  Then,  with  a 


96  Rudder  Grange. 

clothes-line,  I  tied  him  up  carefully  hand  and  foot. 
To  all  this  he  offered  not  the  slightest  opposition. 
When  he  was  suitably  packed,  with  due  regard  to 
the  probable  tenderness  of  wrist  and  ankle  in  one 
brought  up  in  luxury,  the  boy  and  I  carried  him  to 
the  wagon. 

He  was  a  heavy  load,  and  we  may  have  bumped 
him  a  little,  but  his  sleep  was  not  disturbed.  Then 
we  drove  him  to  the  express-office.  This  was  at  the 
railroad  station,  and  the  station-master  was  also  ex- 
press agent.  At  first  he  was  not  inclined  to  receive 
my  parcel,  but  when  I  assured  him  that  all  sorts  of 
live  things  were  sent  by  express,  and  that  I  could  see 
no  reason  for  making  an  exception  in  this  case,  he 
added  my  arguments  to  his  own  disposition,  as  a 
householder,  to  see  the  goods  forwarded  to  their 
destination,  and  so  gave  me  a  receipt,  and  pasted  a 
label  on  the  ex-broker's  shoulder.  I  set  no  value  on 
the  package,  which  I  prepaid. 

"  Now  then,"  said  the  station-master,  "  he'll  go  all 
right,  if  the  express  agent  on  the  train  will  take 
him." 

This  matter  was  soon  settled,  for,  in  a  few  min- 
utes, the  train  stopped  at  the  station.  My  package 
was  wheeled  to  the  express  car,  and  two  porters, 
who  entered  heartily  into  the  spirit  of  the  thing, 
hoisted  it  into 'the  car.  The  train-agent,  who  just 
then  noticed  the  character  of  the  goods,  began  to  de- 
clare that  he  would  not  have  the  fellow  in  his  car ; 


Rudder  Grange.  97 

but  my  friend,  the  station-master,  shouted  out  that 
everything  was  all  right, — the  man  was  properly 
packed,  invoiced  and  paid  for,  and  the  train,  which 
was  behind  time,  moved  away  before  the  irate  agent 
could  take  measures  to  get  rid  of  his  unwelcome 
freight. 

"  Now,"  said  I,  "  there'll  be  a  drunken  man  at  the 
police-station  in  Hackingford  in  about  half-an-hour. 
His  offense  will  be  as  evident  there  as  here,  and  they 
can  do  what  they  please  with  him.  I  shall  tele- 
graph, to  explain  the  matter  and  prepare  them  for 
his  arrival." 

When  I  had  done  this,  Euphemia  and  I  went 
home.  The  tramp  had  cost  me  some  money,  but  I 
was  well  satisfied  with  my  evening's  work,  and  felt 
that  the  township  owed  me,  at  least,  a  vote  of 
thanks. 

But  I  firmly  made  up  my  mind  that  Euphemia 
should  never  again  be  left  unprotected.  I  would 
not  even  trust  to  a  servant  who  would  agree  to  have 
no  afternoons  out.  I  would  get  a  dog. 

The  next  day  I  advertised  for  a  fierce  watch-dog, 
and  in  the  course  of  a  week  I  got  one.  Before  I 
procured  him  I  examined  into  the  merits,  and  price, 
of  about  one  hundred  dogs.  My  dog  was  named 
Pete,  but  I  determined  to  make  a  change  in  that  re- 
spect. He  was  a  tall,  bony,  powerful  beast,  of  a  dull 
black  color,  and  with  a  lower  jaw  that  would  crack 
the  hind-leg  of  an  ox,  so  I  was  informed.  He  was 
5 


98  Rudder  Grange. 

of  a  varied  breed,  and  the  good  Irishman  of  whom  I 
bought  him  said  he  had  fine  blood  in  him,  and 
attempted  to  refer  him  back  to  the  different  classes 
of  dogs  from  which  he  had  been  derived.  But  after 
I  had  had  him  a  while,  I  made  an  analysis  based  on 
his  appearance  and  character,  and  concluded  that  he 
was  mainly  blood-hound,  shaded  with  wolf-dog  and 

mastiff,  and  picked 
out  with  touches  of 
bull-dog. 

The  man  brought 
him  home  for  me,  and 
chained  him  up  in  an 
unused  wood-shed,  for 
I  had  no  dog-house  as 
yet. 

"  Now  thin,"  said  he,  "  all  youVe  got  to  do  is  to 
keep  'im  chained  up  there  for  three  or  four  days  till 
he  gets  used  to  ye.  An'  I'll  tell  ye  the  best  way  to 
make  a  dog  like  ye.  Jist  give  him  a  good  lickin'. 
Then  he'll  know  yer  his  master,  and  he'll  like  ye 
iver  aftherward.  There's  plenty  of  people  that 
don't  know  that.  And,  by  the  way,  sir,  that  chain's 
none  too  strong  for  'im.  I  got  it  when  he  wasn't 
mor'n  half  grown.  Ye'd  bether  git  him  a  new 
one." 

When  the  man  had  gone,  I  stood  and  looked  at 
the  dog,  and  could  not  help  hoping  that  he  would 
learn  to  like  me  without  the  intervention  of  a  thrash- 


Rudder  Grange.  99 

ing.    Such  harsh  methods  were  not  always  necessary, 
I  felt  sure. 

After  our  evening  meal — a  combination  of  dinner 
and  supper,  of  which  Euphemia  used  to  say  that  she 
did  not  know  whether  to  call  it  dinper  or  supner- — 
we  went  out  together  to  look  at  our  new  guardian. 

Euphemia  was  charmed  with  him. 

"  How  massive  ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  What  splendid 
limbs  !  And  look  at  that  immense  head  !  I  know  I 
shall  never  be  afraid  now.  I  feel  that  that  is  a  dog 
I  can  rely  upon.  Make  him  stand  up,  please,  so  I 
can  see  how  tall  he  is." 

"  I  think  it  would  be  better  not  to  disturb  him,"  I 
answered;  "  he  may  be  tired.  He  will  get  up  of  his 
own  accord  very  soon.  And,  indeed,  I  hope  that  he 
will  not  get  up  until  I  get  him  a  new  chain." 

As  I  said  this  I  made  a  step  forward  to  look  at 
his  chain,  and  at  that  instant  a  low  growl,  like  the 
first  rumblings  of  an  earthquake,  ran  through  the  dog. 

I  stepped  back  again  and  walked  over  to  the 
village  for  the  chain.  The  dog-chains  shown  me  at 
the  store  all  seemed  too  short  and  too  weak,  and  I 
concluded  to  buy  two  chains  such  as  used  for 
hitching  horses,  and  to  join  them  so  as  to  make  a 
long  as  well  as  a  strong  one  of  them.  I  wanted  him 
to  be  able  to  come  out  of  the  wood-shed  when  it 
should  be  necessary  to  show  himself. 

On  my  way  home  with  my  purchase  the  thought 
suddenly  struck  me :  How  will  you  put  that  chain 


100 


Rudder  Grange. 


on  your  dog?     The  memory  of  the  rumbling  growl 
was  still  vivid. 

I  never  put  the  chain  on  him.  As  I  approached 
him  with  it  in  my  hand,  he  rose  to  his  feet,  his  eyes 
sparkled,  his  black  lips  drew 


back  from  his  mighty  teeth,  he  gave  one  savage 
bark  and  sprang  at  me. 

His  chain  held  and  I  went  into  the  house.  That 
night  he  broke  loose  and  went  home  to  his  master, 
who  lived  fully  ten  miles  away. 

When  I  found  in  the  morning  that  he  was  gone  I 
was  in  doubt  whether  it  would  be  better  to  go  and 


Rudder  Grange.  i  o  i 

look  for  him  or  not.  But  I  concluded  to  keep  up  a 
brave  heart,  and  found  him,  as  I  expected,  at  the 
place  where  I  had  bought  him.  The  Irishman  took 
him  to  my  house  again,  and  I  had  to  pay  for  the 
man's  loss  of  time  as  well  as  for  his  fare  on  the  rail- 
road. But  the  dog's  old  master  chained  him  up  with 
the  new  chain  and  I  felt  repaid  for  my  outlay. 

Every  morning  and  night  I  fed  that  dog,  and  I 
spoke  as  kindly  and  gently  to  him  as  I  knew  how. 
But  he  seemed  to  cherish  a  distaste  for  me,  and 
always  greeted  me  with  a  growl.  He  was  a  dread- 
ful dog. 

About  a  week  after  the  arrival  of  this  animal,  I 
was  astonished  and  frightened  on  nearing  the  house 
to  hear  a  scream  from  my  wife.  I  rushed  into  the 
yard  and  was  greeted  with  a  succession  of  screams 
from  two  voices,  that  seemed  to  come  from  the 
vicinity  of  the  wood-shed.  Hurrying  thither,  I  per- 
ceived Euphemia  standing  on  the  roof  of  the  shed 
in  perilous  proximity  to  the  edge,  while  near  the 
ridge  of  the  roof  sat  our  servant-girl  with  her  hand- 
kerchief over  her  head. 

"  Hurry,  hurry  !  "  cried  Euphemia.  "  Climb  up 
here!  The  dog  is  loose!  Be  quick!  Be  quick! 
Oh  !  he's  coming,  he's  coming !  " 

I  asked  for  no  explanation.  There  was  a  rail- 
fence  by  the  side  of  the  shed  and  I  sprang  on  this, 
and  was  on  the  roof  just  as  the  dog  came  bound- 
ing and  barking  from  the  barn. 


IO2  Rudder  Grange. 

Instantly  Euphemia  had  me  in  her  ajyiis,  and  we 
came  very  near  going  off  the  roof  together. 

"  I  never  feared  to  have  you  come  home  before," 
she  sobbed.  "  I  thought  he  would  tear  you  limb 
from  limb." 

"  But  how  did  all  this  happen  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Och !  I  kin  hardly  remimber,"  said  the  girl  from 
under  her  handkerchief. 

"  Well,  I  didn't  ask  you,"  I  said,  somewhat  too 
sharply. 

"  Oh,  I'll  tell  you,"  said  Euphemia.  "  There  was 
a  man  at  the  gate  and  he  looked  suspicious  and 
didn't  try  to  come  in,  and  Mary  was  at  the  barn 
looking  for  an  egg,  and  I  thought  this  was  a  good 
time  to  see  whether  the  dog  was  a  good  watch-dog 
or  not,  so  I  went  and  unchained  him " 

"  Did  you  unchain  that  dog?"  I  cried. 

"Yes,  and  the  minute  he  was  loose  he  made  a 
rush  at  the  gate,  but  the  man  was  gone  before  he 
got  there,  and  as  he  ran  down  the  road  I  saw  that 
he  was  Mr.  Henderson's  man,  who  was  coming  here 
on  an  errand,  I  expect,  and  then  I  went  down  to 
the  barn  to  get  Mary  to  come  and  help  me  chain  up 
the  dog,  and  when  she  came  out  he  began  to  chase 
me  and  then  her ;  and  we  were  so  frightened  that 
we  climbed  up  here,  and  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure, 
how  I  ever  got  up  that  fence ;  and  do  you  think  he 
can  climb  up  here  ?  " 

"  Oh  no  !  my  dear,"  I  said. 


Rudder  Grange.  103 

"  An*  he's  just  the  baste  to  go  afther  a  stip-lad- 
der,"  said  the  girl,  in  muffled  tones. 

"And  what  are  we  to  do?"  asked  Euphemia. 
"  We  can't  eat  and  sleep  up  here.  Don't  you  think 
that  if  we  were  all  to  shout  out  together,  we  could 
make  some  neighbor  hear  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes !  "  I  said,  "  there  is  no  doubt  of  it.  But 
then,  if  a  neighbor  came,  the  dog  would  fall  on 
him " 

"And  tear  him  limb  from  limb,"  interrupted 
Euphemia. 

"  Yes,  and  besides,  my  dear,  I  should  hate  to  have 
any  of  the  neighbors  come  and  find  us  up  here.  It 
would  look  so  utterly  absurd.  Let  me  try  and  think 
of  some  other  plan." 

"  Well,  please  be  as  quick  as  you  can.  It's  dread- 
ful to  be who's  that?  " 

I  looked  up  and  saw  a  female  figure  just  entering 
the  yard. 

"Oh,  what  shall  we  do?"  exclaimed  Euphemia. 
"  The  dog  will  get  her.  Call  to  her !  " 

"No,  no,"  said  I,  "  don't  make  a  noise;  it  will 
only  bring  the  dog.  He  seems  to  have  gone  to  the 
barn,  or  somewhere.  Keep  perfectly  quiet,  and  she 
may  go  up  on  the  porch,  and  as  the  front  door  is 
not  locked,  she  may  rush  into  the  house,  if  she  sees 
him  coming." 

"  I  do  hope  she  will  do  that,"  said  Euphemia, 
anxiously. 


104 


Rudder  Grange. 


"  And  yet,"  said  I,  "  it's  not  pleasant  to  have 
strangers  going  into  the  house  when  there's  no  one 
there." 

"  But  it's  better  than  seeing  a  stranger  torn  to 
pieces  before  your  eyes,"  said  Euphemia. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  it  is.  Don't  you  think  we 
might  get  down  now  ?  The  dog  isn't  here." 

"  No,  no  !  "  cried  Euphemia.  "  There  he  is  now, 
coming  this  way.  And  look  at  that  woman !  she  is 
coming  straight  to  this  shed." 

Sure  enough,  our  visitor  had  passed  by  the  front 
door,  and  was  walking  toward  us.  Evidently  she 
had  heard  our  voices. 

"  Don't  come  here  !  "  cried  Euphemia.  "  You'll 
be  killed  !  Run!  run!  The  dog  is  coming !  Why, 
mercy  on  us !  It's  Pomona !  " 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

Pomona  Again. 


URE  enough,  it  was  Pomona.  There 
stood  our  old  servant-girl,  of  the  canal- 
boat,  with  a  crooked  straw  bonnet  on 
her  head,  a  faded  yellow  parasol  in 
her  hand,  a  parcel  done  up  in  news- 
paper under  her  arm,  and  an  expression  of  astonish- 
ment on  her  face. 

"Well,  truly!"  she  ejaculated. 
"Into  the  house,  quick ! "  I   said.     "We  have  a 
savage  dog ! " 

"And  here  he  is!"  cried  Euphemia.  "Oh!  she 
will  be  torn  to  atoms." 

Straight  at  Pomona  came  the  great  black  beast, 
barking  furiously.  But  the  girl  did  not  move ;  she 
did  not  even  turn  her  head  to  look  at  the  dog,  who 
stopped  before  he  reached  her  and  began  to  rush 
wildly  around  her  barking  terribly. 

We  held  our  breath.  I  tried  to  say  "  get  out ! " 
or  "  lie  down ! "  but  my  tongue  could  not  form  the 
words. 


io6  Rudder  Grange. 

"  Can't  you  get  up  here  ?  "  gasped  Euphemia. 

"  I  don't  want  to,"  said  the  girl. 

The  dog  now  stopped  barking,  and  stood  looking 
at  Pomona,  occasionally  glancing  up  at  us.  Pomona 
took  not  the  slightest  notice  of  him. 

"  Do  you  know,  ma'am,"  said  she  to  Euphemia, 
"that  if  I  had. come  here  yesterday,  that  dog  would 
have  had  my  life's  blood." 

"And  why  don't  he  have  it  to-day?"  said  Eu- 
phemia, who,  with  myself,  was  utterly  amazed  at 
the  behavior  of  the  dog. 

"  Because  I  know  more  to-day  than  I  did  yester- 
day," answered  Pomona.  "  It  is  only  this  afternoon 
that  I  read  something,  as  I  was  coming  here  on  the 
cars.  This  is  it,"  she  continued,  unwrapping  her 
paper  parcel,  and  taking  from  it  one  of  the  two 
books  it  contained.  "  I  finished  this  part  just  as 
the  cars  stopped,  an'  I  put  my  scissors  in  the  place ; 
I'll  read  it  to  you." 

Standing  there  with  one  book  still  under  her  arm, 
the  newspaper  half  unwrapped  from  it,  hanging 
down  and  flapping  in  the  breeze,  she  opened  the 
other  volume  at  the  scissors,  turned  back  a  page  or 
two,  and  began  to  read  as  follows: 

"  Lord  Edward  slowly  san  ter  ed  up  the  bro  ad  anc  es  tral  walk, 
when  sudden  ly  from  out  a  cop  se,  there  sprang  a  fur  i  ous  hound. 
The  marsh  man,  con  ce  al  ed  in  a  tree  expected  to  see  the  life's 
blood  of  the  young  nob  le  man  stain  the  path.  But  no,  Lord  Ed- 
ward did  not  stop  nor  turn  his  head.  With  a  smile,  he  strode  stead- 


'FOI   LED    AGAIN,'    MUTTERED   THE   MARSH-MAN. 


Rudder  Grange.  109 

i  ly  on.  Well  he  knew  that  if  by  be  traying  no  em  otion,  he  could 
show  the  dog  that  he  was  walking  where  he  had  a  right,  the  bru  te 
would  re  cog  nize  that  right  and  let  him  pass  un  sea  thed.  Thus  in 
this  moment  of  peril  his  nob  le  courage  saved  him.  The  hound, 
abashed,  returned  to  his  cov  ert,  and  Lord  Edward  pass  ed  on. 
"  '  Foi  led  again,'  muttered  the  marsh  man." 

"  Now,  then,"  said  Pomona,  closing  the  book, 
"  you  see  I  remembered  that,  the  minute  I  saw  the 
dog  coming,  an'  I  didn't  betray  any  emotion.  Yes- 
terday, now,  when  I  didn't  know  it,  I'd  'a'  been  sure 
to  betray  emotion,  and  he  would  have  had  my  life's 
blood.  Did  he  drive  you  up  there  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Euphemia  ;  and  she  hastily  explained 
the  situation. 

"  Then  I  guess  I'd  better  chain  him  up,"  re- 
marked Pomona ;  and  advancing  to  the  dog  she 
took  him  boldly  by  the  collar  and  pulled  him 
toward  the  shed.  The  animal  hung  back  at  first, 
but  soon  followed  her,  and  she  chained  him  up 
securely. 

"  Now  you  can  come  down,"  said  Pomona. 

I  assisted  Euphemia  to  the  ground,  and  Pomona 
persuaded  the  hired  girl  to  descend. 

"  Will  he  grab  me  by  the  leg  ?  "  asked  the  girl. 

"  No  ;  get  down,  gump,"  said  Pomona  ;  and  down 
she  scrambled. 

We  took  Pomona  into  the  house  with  us  and 
asked  her  news  of  herself. 

"Well,"  said  she,   "there  ain't  much   to  tell.     I 


i  io  Rudder  Grange. 

stayed  a  while  at  the  institution,  but  I  didn't  get 
much  good  there,  only  I  learned  to  read  to  myself, 
because  if  I  read  out  loud  they  came  and  took  the 
book  away.  Then  I  left  there  an'  went  to  live  out, 
but  the  woman  was  awful  mean.  She  throwed  away 
one  of  my  books  when  I  was  only  half  through  it. 
It  was  a  real  good  book,  named  *  The  Bridal  Corpse, 
or  Montregor's  Curse,'  an'  I  had  to  pay  for  it  at  the 
circulatin'  library.  So  I  left  her  quick  enough,  and 
then  I  went  on  the  stage." 

"On  the  stage!"  cried  Euphemia.  "What  did 
you  do  on  the  stage?" 

"Scrub,"  replied  Pomona.  "You  see  that  I 
thought  if  I  could  get  anything  to  do  at  the  theay- 
ter,  I  could  work  my  way  up,  so  I  was  glad  to  get 
scrubbin'.  I  asked  the  prompter,  one  morning,  if 
he  thought  there  was  a  chance  for  me  to  work  up, 
an'  he  said  yes,  I  might  scrub  the  galleries,  an'  then 
I  told  him  that  I  didn't  want  none  of  his  lip,  an'  I 
pretty  soon  left  that  place.  I  heard  you  was  a- 
keepin'  house  out  here,  an*  so  I  thought  I'd  come 
along  an'  see  you,  an'  if  you  hadn't  no  girl  I'd  like 
to  live  with  you  again,  an'  I  guess  you  might  as 
well  take  me,  for  that  other  girl  said,  when  she  got 
down  from  the  shed,  that  she  was  goin'  away  to- 
morrow ;  she  wouldn't  stay  in  no  house  where  they 
kept  such  a  dog,  though  I  told  her  I  guess'ed  he 
was  only  cuttin'  'round  because  he  was  so  glad  to 
get  loose." 


Rudder  Grange.  1 1 1 

"  Cutting  around  !  "  exclaimed  Euphemia.  "  It 
was  nothing  of  the  kind.  If  you  had  seen  him  you 
would  have  known  better.  But  did  you  come  now 
to  stay  ?  Where  are  your  things  ?  " 

"  On  me,"  replied  Pomona. 

When  Euphemia  found  that  the  Irish  girl  really 
intended  to  leave,  we  consulted  together  and  con- 
cluded to  engage  Pomona,  and  I  went  so  far  as  to 
agree  to  carry  her  books  to  and  from  the  circulating 
library  to  which  she  subscribed,  hoping  thereby  to 
be  able  to  exercise  some  influence  on  her  taste. 
And  thus  part  of  the  old  family  of  Rudder  Grange 
came  together  again.  True,  the  boarder  was 
away,  but,  as  Pomona  remarked,  when  she  heard 
about  him,  "  You  couldn't  always  expect  to  ever 
regain  all  the  ties  that  had  always  bound  every- 
body." 

Our  delight  and  interest  in  our  little  farm  in- 
creased day  by  day.  In  a  week  or  two  after  Po- 
mona's arrival  I  bought  a  cow.  Euphemia  was  very 
anxious  to  have  an  Alderney, — they  were  such 
gentle,  beautiful  creatures, — but  I  could  not  afford 
such  a  luxury.  I  might  possibly  compass  an  Alder- 
ney calf,  but  in  that  case  it  would  be  necessary  to 
wait  a  couple  of  years  for  our  milk,  and  Euphemia 
said  it  would  be  better  to  have  a  common  cow  than 
to  do  that. 

Great  was  our  inward  satisfaction  when  the  cow, 
our  own  cow,  walked  slowly  and  solemnly  into  our 


112 


Rudder  Grange. 


yard  and  began  to  crop  the  clover  on  our  little  lawn. 
Pomona  and  I  gently  drove  her  to  the  barn,  while 


Euphemia  endeavored  to  quiet  the  violent  demon- 
strations of  the  dog  (fortunately  chained)  by  assur- 
ing him  that  this  was  our  cow  and  that  she  was  to 
live  here,  and  that  he  was  to  take  care  of  her,  and 
never  bark  at  her.  All  this  and  much  more,  delivered 
in  the  earnest  and  confidential  tone  in  which  ladies 
talk  to  infants  and  dumb  animals,  made  the  dog 
think  that  he  was  to  be  let  loose  to  kill  the  cow,  and 
he  bounded  and  leaped  with  delight,  tugging  at  his 
chain  so  violently  that  Euphemia  became  a  little 
frightened  and  left  him.  This  dog  had  been  named 
Lord  Edward,  at  the  earnest  solicitation  of  Pomona, 
and  he  was  becoming  somewhat  reconciled  to  his  life 
with  us.  He  allowed  me  to  unchain  him  at  night 
and  I  could  generally  chain  him  up  in  the  morning 
if  I  had  a  good  big  plate  of  food  with  which  to  tempt 
him  into  the  shed. 

Before  supper  we  all  went  down  to  the  barn  to  see 
the  milking.     Pomona,  who   knew  all   about    such 


Rudder  Grange.  1 1 3 

things,  having  been  on  a  farm  in  her  first  youth,  was 
to  be  the  milkmaid.  But  when  she  began  operations 
she  did  no  more  than  begin.  Milk  as  industriously 
as  she  might,  she  got  no  milk. 

"  This  is  a  queer  cow,"  said  Pomona. 

"  Are  you  sure  that  you  know  how  to  milk  ?  " 
asked  Euphemia  anxiously. 

"  Can  I  milk  ?  "  said  Pomona.  "  Why,  of  course, 
ma'am.  I've  seen  'em  milk  hundreds  of  times." 

"But  you  never  milked,  yourself?  "  I  remarked. 

"  No,  sir;  but  I  know  just  how  it's  done." 

That  might  be,  but  she  couldn't  do  it,  and  at  last 
we  had  to  give  up  the  matter  in  despair,  and  leave 
the  poor  cow  until  morning,  when  Pomona  was  to  go 
for  a  man  who  occasionally  worked  on  the  place,  and 
engage  him  to  come  and  milk  for  us. 

That  night  as  we  were  going  to  bed  I  looked  out 
of  the  window  at  the  barn  which  contained  the  cow, 
and  was  astonished  to  see  that  there  was  a  light  in- 
side of  the  building. 

"What!"  I  exclainfed.  "Can't  we  be  left  in 
peaceful  possession  of  a  cow  for  a  single  night?" 
And,  taking  my  revolver,  I  hurried  down-stairs  and 
out-of-doors,  forgetting  my  hat  in  my  haste.  Euphe- 
mia screamed  after  me  to  be  careful  and  keep  the 
pistol  pointed  away  from  me. 

I  whistled  for  the  dog  as  I  went  out,  but  to  my 
surprise  he  did  not  answer. 

"  Has  he  been  killed  ?  "  I  thought,  and,  for  a  mo- 


H4  Rudder  Grange. 

ment,  I  wished  that  I  was  a  large  family  of  brothers 
— all  armed. 

But  on  my  way  to  the  barn  I  met  a  person  ap- 
proaching with  a  lantern  and  a  dog.  It  was  Pomona, 
and  she  had  a  milk-pail  on  her  arm. 

"See  here,  sir,"  she  said,  "  it's  mor'n  half  full.  I 
just  made  up  my  mind  that  I'd  learn  to  milk — if  it 
took  me  all  night.  I  didn't  go  to  bed  at  all,  an'  I've 
been  at  the  barn  fur  an  hour.  An'  there  ain't  no 
need  of  my  goin'  after  no  man  in  the  mornin',"  said 
she,  hanging  up  the  barn  key  on  its  nail. 

I  simply  mention  this  circumstance  to  show  what 
kind  of  a  girl  Pomona  had  grown  to  be. 

We  were  all  the  time  at  work  in  some  way,  im- 
proving our  little  place.  "  Some  day  we  will  buy 
it,"  often  said  Euphemia.  We  intended  to  have 
some  wheat  sown  in  the  fall  and  the  next  year  we 
would  make  the  place  fairly  crack  with  luxuriance. 
We  would  divide  the  duties  of  the  farm,  and,  among 
other  things,  Euphemia  would  take  charge  of  the 
poultry.  She  wished  to  do  this  entirely  herself,  so 
that  there  might  be  one  thing  that  should  be  all  her 
own,  just  as  my  work  in  town  was  all  my  own.  As 
she  wished  to  buy  the  fowls  and  defray  all  the  neces- 
sary expenses  out  of  her  own  private  funds,  I  could 
make  no  objections,  and,  indeed,  I  had  no  desire  to 
do  so.  She  bought  a  chicken-book,  and  made  her- 
self mistress  of  the  subject.  For  a  week,  there  was 
a  strong  chicken  flavor  in  all  our  conversation. 


Rudder  Grange.  115 

This  was  while  the  poultry  yard  was  building. 
There  was  a  chicken-house  on  the  place,  but  no 
yard,  and  Euphemia  intended  to  have  a  good  big 
one,  because  she  was  going  into  the  business  to  make 
money. 

"  Perhaps  my  poultry  may  buy  the  place,"  she 
said,  and  I  very  much  hoped  they  would. 

Everything  was  to  be  done  very  systematically. 
She  would  have  Leghorns,  Brahmas,  and  common 
fowls.  The  first,  because  they  laid  so  many  eggs; 
the  second,  because  they  were  such  fine,  big  fowls ; 
and  the  third,  because  they  were  such  good  mothers. 

"  We  will  eat,  and  sell  the  eggs  of  the  first  and 
third  classes,"  she  said,  "  and  set  the  eggs  of  the 
second  class  under  the  hens  of  the  third  class." 

"  There  seems  to  be  some  injustice  in  that  arrange- 
ment," I  said,  "  for  the  first  class  will  always  be 
childless ;  the  second  class  will  have  nothing  to  do 
with  their  offspring ;  while  the  third  will  be  obliged 
to  bring  up  and  care  for  the  children  of  others." 

But  I  really  had  no  voice  in  this  matter.  As  soon 
as  the  carpenter  had  finished  the  yard,  and  had  made 
some  coops  and  other  necessary  arrangements,  Eu- 
phemia hired  a  carriage  and  went  about  the  country 
to  buy  poultry.  It  was  not  easy  to  find  just  what 
she  wanted,  and  she  was  gone  all  day. 

However,  she  brought  home  an  enormous  Brahma 
cock  and  ten  hens,  the  lot  being  nearly  equally 
divided  into  her  three  classes.  She  was  very  proud 


n6  Rudder   Grange. 

of  her  purchases,  and  indeed  they  were  fine  fowls. 
In  the  evening  I  made  some  allusion  to  the  cost  of 
all  this  carpenter  work,  carriage-hire,  etc.,  besides 
the  price  of  the  poultry. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  she,  "  you  don't  look  at  the  matter  in 
the  right  light.  You  haven't  studied  it  up  as  I  have. 
Now,  just  let  me  show  you  how  this  thing  will  pay, 
if  carried  on  properly."  Producing  a  piece  of  paper 
covered  with  figures,  she  continued :  "  I  begin  with 
ten  hens — I  bought  four  common  ones,  because  it 
would  make  it  easier  to  calculate.  After  a  while,  I 
set  these  ten  hens  on  thirteen  eggs  each  ;  three  of 
these  eggs  will  probably  spoil, —  that  leaves  ten 
chickens  hatched  out.  Of  these,  I  will  say  that  half 
die,  that  will  make  five  chickens  for  each  hen  ;  you 
see,  I  leave  a  large  margin  for  loss.  This  makes 
fifty  chickens,  and  when  we  add  the  ten  hens,  we 
have  sixty  fowls  at  the  end  of  the  first  year.  Next 
year  I  set  these  sixty  and  they  bring  up  five  chickens 
each,— I  am  sure  there  will  be  a  larger  proportion 
than  this,  but  I -want  to  be  safe, — and  that  is  three 
hundred  chickens ;  add  the  hens,  and  we  have  three 
hundred  and  sixty  at  the  end  of  the  second  year. 
In  the  third  year,  calculating  in  the  same  safe  way, 
we  shall  have  twenty-one  hundred  and  sixty  chickens ; 
in  the  fourth  year  there  will  be  twelve  thousand 
nine  hundred  and  sixty,  and  at  the  end  of  the  fifth 
year,  which  is  as  far  as  I  need  to  calculate  now,  we 
shall  have  sixty-four  thousand  and  eight  hundred 


Rudder  Grange.  117 

fowls.  What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  At  seventy- 
five  cents  apiece, — a  very  low  price, — that  would  be 
forty-eight  thousand  and  six  hundred  dollars.  Now, 
what  is  the  petty  cost  of  a  fence,  and  a  few  coops, 
by  the  side  of  a  sum  like  that  ?  " 

"  Nothing  at  all,"  I  answered.  "  It  is  lost  like  a 
drop  in  the  ocean.  I  hate,  my  dear,  to  interfere  in 
any  way  with  such  a  splendid  calculation  as  that, 
but  I  would  like  to  ask  you  one  question." 

"  Oh,  of  course,"  she  said,  "  J  suppose  you  are 
going  to  say  something  about  the  cost  of  feeding 
all  this  poultry.  That  is  to  come  out  of  the  chickens 
supposed  to  die.  They  won't  die.  It  is  ridiculous 
to  suppose  that  each  hen  will  bring  up  but  five 
chickens.  The  chickens  that  will  live,  out  of  those 
I  consider  as  dead,  will  more  than  pay  for  the  food." 

"  That  is  not  what  I  was  going  to  ask  you,  although 
of  course  it  ought  to  be  considered.  But  you  know 
you  are  only  going  to  set  common  hens,  and  you  do 
not  intend  to  raise  any.  Now,  are  those  four  hens 
to  do  all  the  setting  and  mother-work  for  five  years, 
and  eventually  bring  up  over  sixty-four  thousand 
chickens?  " 

"  Well,  I  did  make  a  mistake  there,"  she  said, 
coloring  a  little.  "  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do  ;  I'll  set 
every  one  of  my  hens  every  year." 

"  But  all  those  chickens  may  not  be  hens.  You 
have  calculated  that  every  one  of  them  would  set 
as  soon  as  it  was  old  enough." 


n8 


Rudder  Grange. 


She  stopped  a  minute  to  think  this  over. 

"  Two  heads  are  better  than  one,  I  see,"  she  said, 
directly.  "  I'll  allow  that  one-half  of  all  the  chickens 
are  cocks,  and  that  will  make  the  profits  twenty- 
four  thousand  three  hundred  dollars — more  than 
enough  to  buy  this  place." 

"  Ever  so  much  more,"  I  cried.  "  This  Rudder 
Grange  is  ours !  " 


CHAPTER   IX. 
Camping  Out. 


Y  wife  and  I  were  both  so  fond  of 
country  life  and  country  pursuits 
that  month  after  month  passed  by 
at  our  little  farm  in  a  succession  of 
delightful  days.  Time  flew  like  a 
"  limited  express "  train,  and  it  was  September 
before  we  knew  it. 

I  had  been  working  very  hard  at  the  office  that 
summer,  and  was  glad  to  think  of  my  two  weeks' 
vacation,  which  were  to  begin  on  the  first  Monday 
of  the  month.  I  had  intended  spending  these  two 
weeks  in  rural  retirement  at  home,  but  an  interview 
in  the  city  with  my  family  physician  caused  me  to 
change  my  mind.  I  told  him  my  plan. 

"Now,"  said  he,  "if  I  were  you,  I'd  do  nothing 
of  the  kind.  You  have  been  working  too  hard ; 


I2O  Rudder  Grange. 

your  face  shows  it.  You  need  rest  and  change. 
Nothing  will  do  you  so  much  good  as  to  camp  out ; 
that  will  be  fifty  times  better  than  going  to  any 
summer  resort.  You  can  take  your  wife  with  you. 
I  know  she'll  like  it.  I  don't  care  where  you  go,  so 
that  it's  a  healthy  spot.  Get  a  good  tent  and  an 
outfit,  be  off  to  the  woods,  and  forget  all  about  busi- 
ness and  domestic  matters  for  a  few  weeks." 

This  sounded  delightful,  and  I  propounded  the 
plan  to  Euphemia  that  evening.  She  thought  very 
well  of  it,  and  was  sure  we  could  do  it.  Pomona 
would  not  be  afraid  to  remain  in  the  house,  under 
the  protection  of  Lord  Edward,  and  she  could  easily 
attend  to  the  cow  and  the  poultry.  It  would  be  a 
holiday  for  her,  too.  Old  John,  the  man  who  occa- 
sionally worked  for  us,  would  come  up  sometimes 
and  see  after  things.  With  her  customary  dexterity 
Euphemia  swept  away  every  obstacle  to  the  plan, 
and  all  was  settled  before  we  went  to  bed. 

As  my  wife  had  presumed,  Pomona  made  no  ob- 
jections to  remaining  in  charge  of  the  house.  The 
scheme  pleased  her  greatly.  So  far,  so  gcod.  I 
called  that  day  on  a  friend  who  was  in  the  habit  of 
camping  out,  to  talk  to  him  about  getting  a  tent 
and  the  necessary  "  traps  "  for  a  life  in  the  woods. 
He  proved  perfectly  competent  to  furnish  advice 
and  everything  else.  He  offered  to  lend  me  all  I 
needed.  He  had  a  complete  outfit ;  had  done  with 
them  for  the  year,  and  I  was  perfectly  welcome. 


Rudder  Grange.  121 

Here  was  rare  luck.  He  gave  me  a  tent,  camp-stove, 
dishes,  pots,  gun,  fishing-tackle,  a  big  canvas  coat 
with  dozens  of  pockets  riveted  on  it,  a  canvas  hat, 
rods,  reels,  boots  that  came  up  to  my  hips,  and 
about  a  wagon-load  of  things  in  all.  He  was  a  really 
good  fellow. 

We  laid  in  a  stock  of  canned  and  condensed  pro- 
visions, and  I  bought  a  book  on  camping  out  so  as 
to  be  well  posted  on  the  subject.  On  the  Saturday 
before  the  first  Monday  in  September  we  would 
have  been  entirely  ready  to  start  had  we  decided  on 
the  place  where  we  were  to  go. 

We  found  it  very  difficult  to  make  this  decision. 
There  were  thousands  of  places  where  people  went 
to  camp  out,  but  none  of  them  seemed  to  be  the 
place  for  us.  Most  of  them  were  too  far  away. 
We  figured  up  the  cost  of  taking  ourselves  and  our 
camp  equipage  to  the  Adirondacks,  the  lakes,  the 
trout-streams  of  Maine,  or  any  of  those  well-known 
resorts,  and  we  found  that  we  could  not  afford  such 
trips;  especially  for  a  vacation  of  but  fourteen 
days. 

On  Sunday  afternoon  we  took  a  little  walk.  Our 
minds  were  still  troubled  about  the  spot  toward 
which  we  ought  to  journey  next  day,  and  we  needed 
the  soothing  influences  of  Nature.  The  country  to 
the  north  and  west  of  our  little  farm  was  very  beauti- 
ful. About  half  a  mile  from  the  house  a  modest 

river   ran ;    on   each   side  of   it  were   grass-covered 
6 


122  Rudder  Grange. 

fields  and  hills,  and  in  some  places  there  were  exten- 
sive tracks  of  woodlands. 

"  Look  here  !  "  exclaimed  Euphemia,  stopping 
short  in  the  little  path  that  wound  along  the  river 
bank.  "  Do  you  see  this  river,  those  woods,  those 
beautiful  fields,  with  not  a  soul  in  them  or  anywhere 
near  them ;  and  those  lovely  blue  mountains  over 
there?" — as  she  spoke  she  waved  her  parasol  in  the 
direction  of  the  objects  indicated,  so  that  I  could 


not  mis-       .     . 

take   t  hem. 

"  Now  what  could     ' 

we  want  better   than 

this?"  she  continued.     "Here  we  can  fish,  and  do 

everything  that   we  want  to.     I  say,  let    us  camp 

here  on  our  own  river.     I  can  take  you  to  the  very 

spot   for  the  tent.     Come  on  ! "     And  she  was  so 

excited  about  it  that  she  fairly  ran. 

The  spot  she  pointed  out  was  one  we  had  fre- 
quently visited  in  our  rural  walks.  It  was  a  grassy 
peninsula,  as  I  termed  it,  formed  by  a  sudden  turn 
of  a  creek  which,  a  short  distance  below,  flowed  into 
the  river.  It  was  a  very  secluded  spot.  The  place 


Rudder  Grange.  123 

was  approached  through  a  pasture-field, — we  had 
found  it  by  mere  accident, — and  where  the  penin- 
sula joined  the  field  (we  had  to  climb  a  fence  just 
there),  there  was  a  cluster  of  chestnut  and  hickory 
trees,  while  down  near  the  point  stood  a  wide-spread- 
ing oak. 

"  Here,  under  this  oak,  is  the  place  for  the  tent," 
said  Euphemia,  her  face  flushed,  her  eyes  sparkling, 
and  her  dress  a  little  torn  by  getting  over  the  fence 
in  a  hurry.  "  What  do  we  want  with  your  Adiron- 
dacks  and  your  Dismal  Swamps  ?  This  is  the  spot 
for  us ! " 

"  Euphemia,"  said  I,  in  as  composed  a  tone  as 
possible,  although  my  whole  frame  was  trembling 
with  emotion,  "  Euphemia,  I  am  glad  I  married 
you  ! " 

Had  it  not  been  Sunday,  we  would  have  set  up 
our  tent  that  night. 

Early  the  next  morning,  old  John's  fifteen-dollar 
horse  drew  from  our  house  a  wagon-load  of  camp- 
fixtures.  There  was  some  difficulty  in  getting  the 
wagon  over  the  field,  and  there  were  fences  to  be 
taken  down  to  allow  of  its  passage  ;  but  we  overcame 
all  obstacles,  and  reached  the  camp-ground  without 
breaking  so  much  as  a  teacup.  Old  John  helped  me 
pitch  the  tent,  and  as  neither  of  us  understood  the 
matter  very  well,  it  took  us  some  time.  It  was,  in- 
deed, nearly  noon  when  old  John  left  us,  and  it  may 
have  been  possible  that  he  delayed  matters  a  little 


I24 


Rudder  Grange. 


so  as  to  be  able  to  charge  for  a  full  half-day  for  him- 
self and  horse.    Euphemia  got  into  the  wagon  to  go 


back  with  him,  that  she  might  give  some  parting 
injunctions  to  Pomona. 

"  I'll  have  to  stop  a  bit  to  put  up  the  fences, 
ma'am,"  said  old  John,  "  or  Misther  Ball  might  make 
a  fuss." 

"  Is  this  Mr.  Ball's  land  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir,  it's  Mr.  Ball's  land." 

"  I  wonder  how  he'll  like  our  camping  on  it  ?  "  I 
said,  thoughtfully. 

"  I'd  'a'  thought,  sir,  you'd  'a'  asked  him  that  be- 
fore you  came,"  said  old  John,  in  a  tone  that  seemed 
to  indicate  that  he  had  his  doubts  about  Mr.  Ball. 

"  Oh,  there'll  be  no  trouble  about  that,"  cried  Eu- 


Rudder  Grange.  125 

phemia.  "  You  can  drive  me  past  Mr.  Ball's, — it's 
not  much  out  of  the  way, — and  I'll  ask  him." 

"  In  that  wagon  ?  "  said  I.  "  Will  you  stop  at 
Mr.  Ball's  door  in  that  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  she,  as  she  arranged  herself  on 
the  board  which  served  as  a  seat.  "  Now  that  our 
campaign  has  really  commenced,  we  ought  to  begin 
to  rough  it,  and  should  not  be  too  proud  to  ride 
even  in  a — in  a " 

She  evidently  couldn't  think  of  any  vehicle  mean 
enough  for  her  purpose. 

"  In  a  green-grocery  cart,"  I  suggested. 

"  Yes,  or  in  a  red  one.     Go  ahead,  John." 

When  Euphemia  returned  on  foot,  I  had  a  fire  in 
the  camp-stove  and  the  kettle  was  on. 

"  Well,"  said  Euphemia,  "  Mr.  Ball  says  it's  all 
right,  if  we  keep  the  fence  up.  He  don't  want  his 
cows  to  get  into  the  creek,  and  I'm  sure  we  don't 
want  them  walking  over  us.  He  couldn't  under- 
stand, though,  why  we  wished  to  live  out  here.  I 
explained  the  whole  thing  to  him  very  carefully,  but 
it  didn't  seem  to  make  much  impression  on  him.  I 
believe  he  thinks  Pomona  has  something  the  matter 
with  her,  and  that  we  have  come  to  stay  out  here  in 
the  fresh  air  so  as  not  to  take  it." 

"  What  an  extremely  stupid  man  Mr.  Ball  must 
be  !  "  I  said. 

The  fire  did  not  burn  very  well,  and  while  I  was 
at  work  at  it,  Euphemia  spread  a  cloth  upon  the 


126  Rudder  Grange. 

grass,  and  set  forth  bread  and  butter,  cheese,  sar- 
dines, potted  ham,  preserves,  biscuits,  and  a  lot  of 
other  things. 

We  did  not  wait  for  the  kettle  to  boil,  but  con- 
cluded to  do  without  tea  or  coffee,  for  this  meal,  and 
content  ourselves  with  pure  water.  For  some  reason 
or  other,  however,  the  creek  water  did  not  seem  to 
be  very  pure,  and  we  did  not  like  it  at  all. 

"  After  luncheon,"  said  I,  "  we  will  go  and  look  for 
a  spring ;  that  will  be  a  good  way  of  exploring  the 
country." 

"  If  we  can't  find  one,"  said  Euphemia,  "  we  shall 
have  to  go  to  the  house  for  water,  for  I  can  never 
drink  that  stuff." 

Soon  after  lunch  we  started  out.  We  searched 
high  and  low,  near  and  far,  for  a  spring,  but  could 
not  find  one. 

At  length,  by  merest  accident,  we  found -ourselves 
in  the  vicinity  of  old  John's  little  house.  I  knew  he 
had  a  good  well,  and  so  we  went  in  to  get  a  drink, 
for  our  ham  and  biscuits  had  made  us  very  thirsty. 

We  told  old  John,  who  was  digging  potatoes,  and 
was  also  very  much  surprised  to  see  us  so  soon, 
about  our  unexpected  trouble  in  finding  a  spring. 

"  No,"  said  he,  very  slowly,  "  there  is  no  spring 
very  near  to  you.  Didn't  you  tell  your  gal  to  bring 
you  water?" 

"  No,"  I  replied ;  "  we  don't  want  her  coming 
down  to  the  camp.  She  is  to  attend  to  the  house." 


Rudder  Grange.  127 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  John  ;  "  I  will  bring  you 
water,  morning  and  night, — good,  fresh  water,— 
from  my  well,  forf — well,  for  ten  cents  a  day." 

"  That  will  be  nice,"  said  Euphemia,  "  and  cheap, 
too.  And  then  it  will  be  well  to  have  John  come 
every  day ;  he  can  carry  our  letters." 

"  I  don't  expect  to  write  any  letters." 

"  Neither  do  I,"  said  Euphemia  ;  "  but  it  will  be 
pleasant  to  have  some  communication  with  the 
outer  world." 

So  we  engaged  old  John  to  bring  us  water  twice 
a  day.  I  was  a  little  disappointed  at  this,  for  I 
thought  that  camping  on  the  edge  of  a  stream  set- 
tled the  matter  of  water.  But  we  have  many  things 
to  learn  in  this  world. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  I  went  out  to  catch  some 
fish  for  supper.  We  agreed  to  dispense  with  din- 
ner, and  have  breakfast,  lunch,  and  a  good  solid 
supper. 

For  some  time  I  had  poor  luck.  There  were 
either  very  few  fish  in  the  creek,  or  they  were  not 
hungry. 

I  had  been  fishing  an  hour  or  more  when  I  saw 
Euphemia  running  toward  me. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Oh  !  nothing.  I've  just  come  to  see  how  you 
were  getting  along.  Haven't  you  been  gone  an 
awfully  long  time?  And  are  those  all  the  fish 
you've  caught?  What  little  bits  of  things  they 


128  Rudder  Grange. 

are !  I  thought  people  who  camped  out  caught  big 
fish  and  lots  of  them  ?  " 

"That  depends  a  good  deal  upon  where  they 
camp,"  said  I. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  replied  Euphemia ;  "  but  I 
should  think  a  stream  as  big  as  this  would  have 
plenty  of  fish  in  it.  However,  if  you  can't  catch 
any,  you  might  go  up  to  the  road  and  watch  for 
Mr.  Mulligan.  He  sometimes  comes  along  on  Mon- 
days." 

"  I'm  not  going  to  the  road  to  watch  for  any  fish- 
man,"  I  replied,  a  little  more  testily  than  I  should 
have  spoken.  "  What  sort  of  a  camping  out  would 
that  be  ?  But  we  must  not  be  talking  here  or  I 
shall  never  get  a  bite.  Those  fish  are  a  little  soiled 
from  jumping  about  in  the  dust.  You  might  wash 
them  off  at  that  shallow  place,  while  I  go  a  little 
farther  on  and  try  my  luck." 

I  went  a  short  distance  up  the  creek,  and  threw 
my  line  into  a  dark,  shadowy  pool,  under  some 
alders,  where  there  certainly  should  be  fish.  And, 
sure  enough,  in  less  than  a  minute  I  got  a  splendid 
bite, — not  only  a  bite,  but  a  pull.  I  knew  that  I 
had  certainly  hooked  a  big  fish  !  The  thing  actually 
tugged  at  my  line  so  that  I  was  afraid  the  pole 
would  break.  I  did  not  fear  for  the  line,  for  that, 
I  knew,  was  strong.  I  would  have  played  the  fish 
until  he  was  tired,  and  I  could  pull  him  out  without 
risk  to  the  pole,  but  I  did  not  know  exactly  how 


Rudder  Grange.  131 

the  process  of  "  playing  "  was  conducted.  I  was 
very  much  excited.  Sometimes  I  gave  a  jerk  and  a 
pull,  and  then  the  fish  would  give  a  jerk  and  a  pull. 

Directly  I  heard  some  one  running  toward  me, 
and  then  I  heard  Euphemia  cry  out : 

"  Give  him  the  butt !     Give  him  the  butt !  " 

"  Give  him  what  ?  "  I  exclaimed,  without  having 
time  even  to  look  up  at  her. 

"The  butt!  the  butt!"  she  cried,  almost  breath- 
lessly. "  I  know  that's  right  !  I  read  how  Edward 
Everett  Hale  did  it  in  the  Adirondacks." 

"  No,  it  wasn't  Hale  at  all,"  said  I,  as  I  jumped 
about  the  bank ;  "  it  was  Mr.  Murray." 

"  Well,  it  was  one  of  those  fishing  ministers,  and 
I  know  that  it  caught  the  fish." 

"I  know,  I  know.  I  read  it,  but  I  don't  know 
how  to  do  it." 

"Perhaps  you  ought  to  punch  him  with  it,"  said 
she. 

"  No  !  no  !  "  I  hurriedly  replied,  "  I  can't  do  any- 
thing like  that.  I'm  going  to  try  to  just  pull  him 
out  lengthwise.  You  must  take  the  pole  and  go  in 
shore  as  far  as  you  can  and  I'll  try  and  get  hold  of 
the  line." 

Euphemia  did  as  I  bade  her,  and  drew  the  line  in 
so  that  I  could  reach  it.  As  soon  as  I  had  a  firm 
hold  upon  it,  I  pulled  in,  regardless  of  consequences, 
and  hauled  ashore  an  enormous  cat-fish. 

"  Hurrah  !  "  I  shouted,  "  here  is  a  prize." 


132 


Rudder  Grange. 


Euphemia  dropped  the  pole,  and  ran  to  me. 
"  What  a  horrid  beast !  "  she  exclaimed.    "  Throw 
it  in  again/' 

"  Not  at  all !  "  said  I.     "  This  is  a  splendid  fish,  if 

I  can  ever  get  him 
off  of  the  hook. 
Don't  come  near 
him  !  If  he  sticks 
that  back-fin  into 
you,  it  will  poison 
you." 

"  Then  I  should 
think  it  would  poi- 
son us  to  eat  him," 
said  she. 

"  No  ;  it's  only 
his  fin." 

"  I've  eaten  cat- 
fish,   but    I    never 
saw  one  like  that," 
she  said.  "  Look  at 
its  horrible  mouth ! 
And   it    has   whis- 
kers like  a  cat !  " 
"  Oh  !  you  never  saw  one  with   its  head  on,"  I 
said.     "  What  I  want  to  do  is  to  get  this  hook  out." 
I    had   caught  cat-fish   before,  but   never   one  so 
large  as  this,  and  I  was  actually  afraid  to  take  hold 
of  it,  knowing,  as  I  did,  that  you  must  be  very  care- 


Rudder  Grange.  133 

ful  how  you  clutch  a  fish  of  the  kind.  I  finally 
concluded  to  carry  it  home  as  it  was,  and  then  I 
could  decapitate  it,  and  take  out  the  hook  at  my 
leisure.  So  back  to  camp  we  went,  Euphemia  pick- 
ing up  the  little  fish  as  we  passed,  for  she  did  not 
think  it  right  to  catch  fish  and  not  eat  them.  They 
made  her  hands  smell,  it  is  true  ;  but  she  did  not 
mind  that  when  we  were  camping. 

I  prepared  the  big  fish  (and  I  had  a  desperate 
time  getting  the  skin  off),  while  my  wife,  who  is  one 
of  the  daintiest  cooks  in  the  world,  made  the  fire  in 
the  stove,  and  got  ready  the  rest  of  the  supper. 
She  fried  the  fish,  because  I  told  her  that  was  the 
way  cat-fish  ought  to  be  cooked,  although  she  said 
that  it  seemed  very  strange  to  her  to  camp  out  for 
the  sake  of  one's  health,  and  then  to  eat  fried  food. 

But  that  fish  was  delicious  !  The  very  smell  of  it 
made  us  hungry.  Everything  was  good,  and  when 
supper  was  over  and  the  dishes  washed,  I  lighted 
my  pipe  and  we  sat  down  under  a  tree  to  enjoy  the 
evening. 

The  sun  had  set  behind  the  distant  ridge  ;  a  de- 
lightful twilight  was  gently  subduing  every  color  of 
the  scene ;  the  night  insects  were  beginning  to  hum 
and  chirp,  and  a  fire  that  I  had  made  under  a  tree 
blazed  up  gayly,  and  threw  little  flakes  of  light  into 
the  shadows  under  the  shrubbery. 

"  Now  isn't  this  better  than  being  cooped  up  in  a 
narrow,  constricted  house?  "  said  I. 


134  Rudder  Grange. 

"  Ever  so  much  better  ! "  said  Euphemia.  "  Now 
we  know  what  Nature  is.  We  are  sitting  right  down 
in  her  lap,  and  she  is  cuddling  us  up.  Isn't  that  sky 
lovely?  Oh!  I  think  this  is  perfectly  splendid," 
said  she,  making  a  little  dab  at  her  face, — "  if  it 
wasn't  for  the  mosquitoes." 

"  They  are  bad,"  I  said.  "  I  thought  my  pipe 
would  keep  them  off,  but  it  don't.  There  must  be 
plenty  of  them  down  at  that  creek." 

"  Down  there  !  "  exclaimed  Euphemia.  "  Why 
there  are  thousands  of  them  here!  I  never  saw 
anything  like  it.  They're  getting  worse  every 
minute." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  we  must  do,"  I  exclaimed, 
jumping  up.  "  We  must  make  a  smudge." 

"  What's  that?  do  you  rub  it  on  yourself  ?"  asked 
Euphemia,  anxiously. 

"  No,  it's  only  a  great  smoke.  Come,  let  us 
gather  up  dry  leaves  and  make  a  smoldering  fire  of 
them." 

We  managed  to  get  up  a  very  fair  smudge,  and 
we  stood  to  the  leeward  of  it,  until  Euphemia  began 
to  cough  and  sneeze,  as  if  her  head  would  come  off. 
With  tears  running  from  her  eyes,  she  declared  that 
she  would  rather  go  and  be  eaten  alive,  than  stay  in 
that  smoke. 

"  Perhaps  we  are  too  near  it,"  said  I. 

"  That  may  be,"  she  answered,  "  but  I  have  had 
enough  smoke.  Why  didn't  I  think  of  it  before  ?  I 


Rudder  Grange.  135 

brought  two  veils!  We  can  put  these  over  our 
faces,  and  wear  gloves." 

She  was  always  full  of  expedients. 

Veiled  and  gloved,  we  bade  defiance  to  the  mos- 
quitoes, and  we  sat  and  talked  for  half  an  hour  or 
more.  I  made  a  little  hole  in  my  veil,  through 
which  I  put  the  mouth-piece  of  my  pipe. 

When  it  became  really  dark,  I  lighted  the  lan- 
tern, and  we  prepared  for  a  well-earned  night's  rest. 
The  tent  was  spacious  and  comfortable,  and  we  each 
had  a  neat  little  cot-bed. 

"  Are  you  going  to  leave  the  front  door  open  all 
night? "said  Euphemia,  as  I  came  in  after  a  final 
round  to  see  that  all  was  right. 

"I  should  hardly  call  this  canvas-flap  a  front  door," 
I  said,  "  but  I  think  it  would  be  better  to  leave  it 
open  ;  otherwise  we  should  smother.  You  need  not 
be  afraid.  I  shall  keep  my  gun  here  by  my  bedside, 
and  if  any  one  offers  to  come  in,  I'll  bring  him  to  a 
full  stop  quick  enough." 

"  Yes,  if  you  are  awake.  But  I  suppose  we  ought 
not  to  be  afraid  of  burglars  here.  People  in  tents 
never  are.  So  you  needn't  shut  it." 

It  was  awfully  quiet  and  dark  and  lonely,  out  there 
by  that  creek,  when  the  light  had  been  put  out,  and 
we  had  gone  to  bed.  For  some  reason  I  could  not 
go  to  sleep.  After  I  had  been  lying  awake  for  an 
hour  or  two,  Euphemia  spoke  : 

"  Are  you  awake  ?  "  said  she,  in  a  low  voice,  as  if 


136  Rudder  Grange. 

she  were  afraid  of  disturbing  the  people  in  the  next 
room. 

"  Yes,"  said  I.  "  How  long  have  you  been 
awake  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  been  asleep." 

"  Neither  have  I." 

"Suppose  we  light  the  lantern," said  she.  "Don't 
you  think  it  would  be  pleasanter  ?  " 

"  It  might  be,"  I  replied ;  "  but  it  would  draw 
myriads  of  mosquitoes.  I  wish  I  had  brought  a 
mosquito-net  and  a  clock.  It  seems  so  lonesome 
without  the  ticking.  Good-night !  We  ought  to 
have  a  long  sleep,  if  we  do  much  tramping  about  to- 
morrow." 

In  about  half  an  hour  more,  just  as  I  was  begin- 
ning to  be  a  little  sleepy,  she  said : 

"  Where  is  that  gun  ?  " 

"  Here  by  me,"  I  answered. 

"  Well,  if  a  man  should  come  in,  try  and  be  sure 
to  put  it  up  close  to  him  before  you  fire.  In  a  little 
tent  like  this,  the  shot  might  scatter  everywhere,  if 
you're  not  careful." 

"  All  right,"  I  said.     "  Good-night ! " 

"  There's  one  thing  we  never  thought  of ! "  she 
presently  exclaimed. 

"What's  that?  "said  I. 

"  Snakes,"  said  she. 

"  Well,  don't  let's  think  of  them.  We  must  try 
and  get  a  little  sleep." 


Rudder  Grange.  137 

"Dear  knows!  I've  been  trying  hard  enough/' 
she  said,  plaintively,  and  all  was  quiet  again. 

We  succeeded  this  time  in  going  to  sleep,  and  it 
was  broad  daylight  before  we  awoke. 

That  morning,  old  John  came  with  our  water  be- 
fore breakfast  was  ready.  He  also  brought  us  some 
milk,  as  he  thought  we  would  want  it.  We  con- 
sidered this  a  good  idea,  and  agreed  with  him  to 
bring  us  a  quart  a  day. 

"  Don't  you  want  some  wegetables  ? "  said  he. 
"I've  got  some  nice  corn  and  some  tomatoes,  and  I 
could  bring  you  cabbage  and  peas." 

We  had  hardly  expected  to  have  fresh  vegetables 
every  day,  but  there  seemed  to  be  no  reason  why  old 
John  should  not  bring  them,  as  he  had  to  come 
every  day  with  the  water  and  milk.  So  we  arranged 
that  he  should  furnish  us  daily  with  a  few  of  the 
products  of  his  garden. 

"  I  could  go  to  the  butcher's  and  get  you  a  steak 
or  some  chops,  if  you'd  let  me  know  in  the  morn- 
ing," said  he,  intent  on  the  profits  of  further  com- 
missions. 

But  this  was  going  too  far.  We  remembered  we 
were  camping  out,  and  declined  to  have  meat  from 
the  butcher. 

John  had  not  been  gone  more  than  ten  minutes 
before  we  saw  Mr.  Ball  approaching. 

"  Oh,  I  hope  he  isn't  going  to  say  we  can't  stay  !  " 
exclaimed  Euphemia. 


138  Rudder  Grange. 

"How  d'ye  do?"  said  Mr.  Ball,  shaking  hands 
with  us.  "  Did  you  stick  it  out  all  night  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  indeed,"  I  replied,  "  and  expect  to  stick 
it  out  for  a  many  more  nights,  if  you  don't  object 
to  our  occupying  your  land." 

"  No  objection  in  the  world,"  said  he  ;  "  but  it 
seems  a  little  queer  for  people  who  have  a  good 
house,  to  be  living  out  here  in  the  fields  in  a  tent, 
now,  don't  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  but  you  see,"  said  I,  and  I  went  on  and  ex- 
plained the  whole  thing  to  him, — the  advice  of  the 
doctor,  the  discussion  about  the  proper  place  to  go 
to,  and  the  good  reasons  for  fixing  on  this  spot. 

"  Ye-es,"  said  he,  "that's  all  very  well,  no  doubt. 
But  how's  the  girl  ?  " ' 

"  What  girl  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Your  girl.  The  hired  girl  you  left  at  the 
house." 

"  Oh,  she's  all  right,"  said  I ;  "  she's  always  well." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Ball,  slowly  turning  on  his  heel, 
"  if  you  say  so,  I  suppose  she  is.  But  you're  going 
up  to  the  house  to-day,  to  see  about  her,  aren't 
you  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Euphemia.  "  We  don't  intend  to 
go  near  the  house  until  our  camping  is  over." 

"  Just  so, — just  so,"  said  Mr.  Ball ;  "  I  expected  as 
much.  But  look  here;  don't  you  think  it  would  be 
well  for  me  to  ask  Dr.  Ames  to  step  in  and  see  how 
she  is  getting  along  ?  I  dare  say  you've  fixed  every- 


Rudder  Grange.  139 

thing  for  her,  but  that  would  be  safer,  you  know. 
He's  coming  this  morning  to  vaccinate  my  baby,  and 
he  might  stop  there,  just  as  well  as  not,  after  he  has 
left  my  house." 

Euphemia  and  I  could  see  no  necessity  for  this 
proposed  visit  of  the  doctor,  but  we  could  not  well 
object  to  it,  and  so  Mr.  Ball  said  he  would  be  sure 
and  send  him. 

After  our  visitor  had  gone,  the  significance  of  his 
remarks  flashed  on  me.  He  still  thought  that  Po- 
mona was  sick  with  something  catching,  and  that 
we  were  afraid  to  stay  in  the  house  with  her.  But 
I  said  nothing  about  this  to  Euphemia.  It  would 
only  worry  her,  and  our  vacation  was  to  be  a  season 
of  unalloyed  delight. 


CHAPTER    X 

Wet  ^Blankets. 


E  certainly  enjoyed  our  second  day  in 
camp.  .  All  the  morning,  and  a  great 
part  of  the  afternoon,  we  "  explored." 
We  fastened  up  the  tent  as  well  as  we 
could,  and  then,  I  with  my  gun,  and  Euphemia 
with  the  fishing-pole,  we  started  up  the  creek.  We 
did  not  go  very  far,  for  it  would  not  do  to  leave  the 
tent  too  long.  I  did  not  shoot  anything,  but  Eu- 
phemia caught  two  or  three  nice  little  fish,  and  we 
enjoyed  the  sport  exceedingly. 

Soon  after  we  returned  in  the  afternoon,  and 
while  we  were  getting  things  in  order  for  supper,  we 
had  a  call  from  two  of  our  neighbors,  Captain 
Atkinson  and  wife.  The  captain  greeted  us  hilari- 
ously. 

"Hello!"  he  cried.     "Why,  this  is  gay.      Who 


Rudder  Grange.  141 

would  ever  have  thought  of  a  domestic  couple  like 
you  two  going  on  such  a  lark  as  this.  We  just  heard 
about  it  from  old  John,  and  we  came  down  to  see 
what  you  are  up  to.  You've  got  everything  very 
nice.  I  think  I'd  like  this  myself.  Why,  you  might 
have  a  rifle-range  out  here.  You  could  cut  down 
those  bushes  on  the  other  side  of  the  creek,  and  put 
up  your  target  over  there  on  that  hill.  Then  you 
could  lie  down  here  on  the  grass  and  bang  away  all 
day.  If  you'll  do  that,  I'll  come  down  and  prac- 
tice with  you.  How  long  are  you  going  to  keep  it 
up?" 

I  told  him  that  we  expected  to  spend  my  two 
weeks'  vacation  here. 

"  Not  if  it  rains,  my  boy,"  said  he.  "  I  know  what 
it  is  to  camp  out  in  the  rain." 

Meanwhile,  Mrs.  Atkinson  had  been  with  Eu- 
phemia  examining  the  tent,  and  our  equipage  gen- 
erally. 

"  It  would  be  very  nice  for  a  day's  picnic,"  she 
said  ;  "  but  I  wouldn't  want  to  stay  out-of-doors  all 
night." 

And  then,  addressing  me,  she  asked : 

"  Do  you  have  to  breathe  the  fresh  air  all  the 
time,  night  as  well  as  day?  I  expect  that  is  a  very 
good  prescription,  but  I  would  not  like  to  have  to 
follow  it  myself." 

"If  the  fresh  air  is  what  you  must  have,"  said  the 
captain,  "you  might  have  got  all  you  wanted  of 


142  .  Rudder  Grange. 

that  without  taking  the  trouble  to  come  out  here. 
You  could  have  sat  out  on  your  back  porch  night 
and  day  for  the  whole  two  weeks,  and  breathed  all 
the  fresh  air  that  any  man  could  need." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  and  I  might  have  gone  down  cel- 
lar and  put  my  head  in  the  cold-air  box  of  the  fur- 
nace. But  there  wouldn't  have  been  much  fun  in 
that." 

"There  are  a  good 'many  things  that  there's  no 
fun  in,"  said  the  captain.  "  Do  you  cook  your  own 
meals,  or  have  them  sent  from  the  house  ?  " 

"  Cook  them  ourselves,  of  course,"  said  Euphe- 
mia.  "  We  are  going  to  have  supper  now.  Won't 
you  wait  and  take  some  ?  " 

"Thank  you,"  said  Mrs.  Atkinson,  "but  we  must 

go." 

"Yes,  we  must  be  going,"  said  the  captain. 
"  Good-bye.  If  it  rains  I'll  come  down  after  you 
with  an  umbrella." 

"  You  need  not  trouble  yourself  about  that,"  said 
I.  "  We  shall  rough  it  out,  rain  or  shine." 

"  I'd  stay  here  now,"  said  Euphemia,  when  they 
had  gone,  "  if  it  rained  pitch." 

"  You  mean  pitchforks,"  I  suggested. 

"  Yes,  anything,"  she  answered. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  about  the  pitchforks,"  I  said, 
looking  over  the  creek  at  the  sky ;  "  but  I  am  very 
much  afraid  that  it  is  going  to  rain  rain-water  to- 
morrow. But  that  won't  drive  us  home,  will  it  ?  " 


Rudder  Grange, 


11  No,  indeed  !  "  said 
she.  "  We're  prepared 
for  it.  But  I  wish  they'd 
stayed  at  home." 

Sure  enough,  it  com- 
menced to  rain  that  night, 
and  we  had  showers  all 
the  next  day.  We  stayed 
in  camp  during  the  morn- 
ing, and  I  smoked  and 
we  played  checkers,  and 
had  a  very  cosy  time, 
with  a  wood  fire  burning 
under  a  tree  near  by.  We 
kept  up  this  fire,  not  to 
dry  the  air,  but  to  make 
things  look  comfortable. 
In  the  afternoon  I  dressed 
myself  up  in  water-proof 
coat,  boots  and  hat,  and 
went  out  fishing.  I  went 
down  to  the  water  and 
fished  along  the  banks 
for  an  hour,  but  caught 
nothing  of  any  conse- 
quence. This  was  a  great 
disappointment,  for  we 
had  expected  to  live  on 
fresh  fish  for  a  great  part 


144  Rudder  Grange. 

of  the  time  while  we  were  camping.  With  plenty 
of  fish,  we  could  do  without  meat  very  well. 

We  talked  the  matter  over  on  my  return,  and  we 
agreed  that  as  it  seemed  impossible  to  depend  upon 
a  supply  of  fish,  from  the  waters  about  our  camp,  it 
would  be  better  to  let  old  John  bring  fresh  meat 
from  the  butcher,  and,  as  neither  of  us  liked  dry 
biscuits,  we  also  agreed  that  he  should  bring  bread. 

Our  greatest  trouble,  that  evening,  was  to  make 
a  fire.  The  wood,  of  which  there  was  a  good  deal 
lying  about  under  the  trees,  was  now  all  wet  and 
would  not  burn.  However,  we  managed  to  get  up 
a  fire  in  the  stove,  but  I  did  not  know  what  we  were 
going  to  do  in  the  morning.  We  should  have  stored 
away  some  wood  under  shelter. 

We  set  our  little  camp-table  in  the  tent,  and  we 
had  scarcely  finished  our  supper,  when  a  very  heavy 
rain  set  in,  accompanied  by  a  violent  wind.  The 
canvas  at  one  end  of  our  tent  must  have  been  badly 
fastened,  for  it  was  blown  in,  and  in  an  instant  our 
beds  were  deluged.  I  rushed  out  to  fasten  up  the 
canvas,  and  got  drenched  almost  to  the  skin,  and 
although  Euphemia  put  on  her  water-proof  cloak  as 
soon  as  she  could,  she  was  very  wet,  for  the  rain 
seemed  to  dash  straight  through  the  tent. 

This  gust  of  wind  did  not  last  long,  and  the  rain 
soon  settled  down  into  a  steady  drizzle,  but  we  were 
in  a  sad  plight.  It  was  after  nine  o'clock  before  we 
had  put  things  into  tolerable  order. 


Rudder  Grange.  145 

"  We  can  never  sleep  in  those  beds,"  said  Euphe- 
mia,  "  they're  as  wet  as  sop,  and  we  must  go  up  to 
the  house  and  get  something  to  spread  over  them. 
I  don't  want  to  do  it,  but  we  cannot  catch  our 
deaths  of  cold." 

There  was  nothing  to  be  said  against  this,  and  we 
prepared  to  start  out.  I  would  have  gone  by  my- 
self, but  Euphemia  would  not  consent  to  be  left 
alone.  It  was  still  raining,  though  not  very  hard, 
and  I  carried  an  umbrella  and  a  lantern.  Climbing 
fences  at  night  with  a  wife,  a  lantern,  and  an  um- 
brella to  take  care  of,  is  not  very  agreeable,  but  we 
managed  to  reach  the  house,  although  once  or  twice 
we  had  an  argument  in  regard  to  the  path,  which 
seemed  to  be  very  different  at  night  from  what  it 
was  in  the  daytime. 

Lord  Edward  came  bounding  to  the  gate  to  meet 
us,  and  I  am  happy  to  say  that  he  knew  me  at  once, 
and  wagged  his  tail  in  a  very  sociable  way. 

I  had  the  key  of  a  side  door  in  my  pocket,  for  we 
had  thought  it  wise  to  give  ourselves  command  of 
this  door,  and  so  we  let  ourselves  in  without  ringing 
or  waking  Pomona. 

All  was  quiet  within,  and  we  went  up-stairs  with 
the  lantern.  Everything  seemed  clean  and  in  order, 
and  it  is  impossible  to  convey  any  idea  of  the  ele- 
ment of  comfort  which  seemed  to  pervade  the 
house,  as  we  quietly  made  our  way  about  the  house, 
in  our  wet  boots  and  heavy,  damp  clothes. 

7 


146  Rudder  Grange. 

The  articles  we  wanted  were  in  a  closet,  and  while 
I  was  making  a  bundle  of  them,  Euphemia  went  to 
look  for  Pomona.  She  soon  returned,  walking  softly. 

"  She's  sound  asleep,"  said  she,  "  and  I  didn't 
think  there  was  any  need  of  waking  her.  We'll 
send  word  by  John  that  we've  been  here.  And  oh ! 
you  can't  imagine  how  snug  and  happy  she  did 
look,  lying  there  in  her  confortable  bed,  in  that 
nice,  airy  room.  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  if  it  wasn't 
for  the  neighbors,  and  especially  the  Atkinsons,  I 
wouldn't  go  back  one  step." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  I  don't  know  that  I  care  so 
particularly  about  it,  myself.  But  I  suppose  I 
couldn't  stay  here  and  leave  all  Thompson's  things 
out  there  to  take  care  of  themselves." 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  said  Euphemia.  "  And  we're  not 
going  to  back  down.  Are  you  ready?  " 

On  our  way  down-stairs  we  had  to  pass  the  partly 
opened  door  of  our  own  room.  I  could  not  help 
holding  up  the  lantern  to  look  in.  There  was  the 
bed,  with  its  fair  white  covering  and  its  smooth, 
soft  pillows ;  there  were  the  easy-chairs,  the  pretty 
curtains,  the  neat  and  cheerful  carpet,  the  bureau, 
with  Euphemia's  work-basket  on  it ;  there  was  the 
little  table  with  the  book  that  we  had  been  reading 
together,  turned  face  downward  upon  it  ;  there 
were  my  slippers  ;  there  was 

"  Come  !  "  said  Euphemia.  "  I  can't  bear  to  look 
in  there.  It's  like  a  dead  child." 


Rudder  Grange.  147 

And  so  we  hurried  out  into  the  night  and  the 
rain.  We  stopped  at  the  wood-shed  and  got  an 
armful  of  dry  kindling,  which  Euphemia  was 
obliged  to  carry,  as  I  had  the  bundle  of  bed-cloth- 
ing, the  umbrella,  and  the  lantern. 

Lord  Edward  gave  a  short,  peculiar  bark  as  we 
shut  the  gate  behind  us,  but  whether  it  was  meant 
as  a  fond  farewell,  or  a  hoot  of  derision,  I  cannot 
say. 

We  found  everything  as  we  left  it  at  the  camp, 
and  we  made  our  beds  apparently  dry.  But  I  did 
not  sleep  well.  I  could  not  help  thinking  that  it 
was  not  safe  to  sleep  in  a  bed  with  a  substratum  of 
wet  mattress,  and  I  worried  Euphemia  a  little  by 
asking  her  several  times  if  she  felt  the  dampness 
striking  through. 

To  our  great  delight,  the  next  day  was  fine  and 
clear,  and  I  thought  I  would  like  better  than  any- 
thing else,  to  take  Euphemia  in  a  boat  up  the  river 
and  spend  the  day  rowing  about,  or  resting  in  shady 
places  on  the  shore. 

But  what  could  we  do  about  the  tent  ?  It  would 
be  impossible  to  go  away  and  leave  that,  with  its 
contents,  for  a  whole  day. 

When  old  John  came  with  our  water,  milk,  bread, 
and  a  basket  of  vegetables,  we  told  him  of  our 
desired  excursion,  and  the  difficulty  in  the  way. 
This  good  man,  who  always  had  a  keen  scent  for 
any  advantage  to  himself,  warmly  praised  the  boat- 


148  Rudder  Grange. 

ing  plan,  and  volunteered  to  send  his  wife  and  two 
of  his  younger  children  to  stay  with  the  tent  while 
we  were  away. 

The  old  woman,  he  said,  could  do  her  sewing  here 
as  well  as  anywhere,  and  she  would  stay  all  day  for 
fifty  cents. 

This  plan  pleased  us,  and  we  sent  for  Mrs.  Old 
John,  who  came  with  three  of  her  children,— all  too 
young  to  leave  behind,  she  said,— and  took  charge 
of  the  camp. 

Our  day  proved  to  be  as  delightful  as  we  had  an- 
ticipated, and  when  we  returned,  hungry  and  tired, 
we  were  perfectly  charmed  to  find  that  Mrs.  Old 
John  had  our  supper  ready  for  us. 

She  charged  twenty-five  cents  extra  for  this  ser- 
vice, and  we  did  not  begrudge  it  to  her,  though  we 
declined  her  offer  to  come  every  day  and  cook  and 
keep  the  place  in  order. 

"  However,"  said  Euphemia,  on  second  thoughts, 
"  you  may  come  on  Saturday  and  clean  up  gener- 
ally." 

The  next  day,  which  was  Friday,  I  went  out  in 
the  morning  with  the  gun.  As  yet  I  had  shot 
nothing,  for  I  had  seen  no  birds  about  the  camp, 
which,  without  breaking  the  State  laws,  I  thought  I 
could  kill,  and  so  I  started  off  up  the  river-road. 

I  saw  no  game,  but  after  I  had  walked  about  a 
mile,  I  met  a  man  in  a  wagon. 

"  Hello  !  "  said  he,  pulling -up  ;  "  you'd  better  be 


Rudder  Grange. 


149 


careful  how  you  go  popping  around  here  on  the 
public  roads,  frightening  horses." 

As  I  had  not  yet  fired  a  single  shot,  I  thought 
this  was  a  very  impudent  speech,  and  I  think  so 
still. 

"  You  had  better  wait  until  I  begin  to  pop,"  said 
I,  "  before  you  make  such  a  fuss  about  it." 


"  No,"  said  he,  "  I'd  rather  make  the  fuss  before 
you  begin.  My  horse  is  skittish,"  and  he  drove  off. 

This  man  annoyed  me ;  but  as  I  did  not,  of  course, 
wish  to  frighten  horses,  I  left  the  road  and  made 
my  way  back  to  the  tent  over  some  very  rough 
fields.  It  was  a  poor  day  for  birds,  and  I  did  not 
get  a  shot. 


150  Rudder  Grange. 

"  What  a  foolish  man !  "  said  Euphemia,  when  I 
told  her  the  above  incident,  "  to  talk  that  way  when 
you  stood  there  with  a  gun  in  your  hand.  You 
might  have  raked  his  wagon,  fore  and  aft." 

That  afternoon,  as  Euphemia  and  I  were  sitting 
under  a  tree  by  the  tent,  we  were  very  much  sur- 
prised to  see  Pomona  come  walking  down  the  pen- 
insula. 

I  was  annoyed  and  provoked  at  this.  We  had 
given  Pomona  positive  orders  not  to  leave  our  place, 
under  any  pretense,  while  we  were  gone.  If  neces- 
sary to  send  for  anything,  she  could  go  to  the  fence, 
back  of  the  barn,  and  scream  across  a  small  field  to 
some  of  the  numerous  members  of  old  John's  family. 
Under  this  arrangement,  I  felt  that  the  house  was 
perfectly  safe. 

Before  she  could  reach  us,  I  called  out : 

"  Why  did  you  leave  the  house,  Pomona  ?  Don't 
you  know  you  should  never  come  away  and  leave 
the  house  empty  ?  I  thought  I  had  made  you 
understand  that." 

"  It  isn't  empty,"  said  Pomona,  in  an  entirely  un- 
ruffled tone.  "  Your  old  boarder  is  there,  with  his 
wife  and  child." 

Euphemia  and  I  looked  at  each  other  in  dis- 
may. 

"  They  came  early  this  afternoon,"  continued 
Pomona,  "  by  the  I  :  14  train,  an'  walked  up,  he 
carryin'  the  child." 


Rudder  Grange.  151 

"  It  can't  be,"  cried  Euphemia.  "  Their  child's 
married." 

"  It  must  have  married  very  young,  then,"  said 
Pomona,  "  for  it  isn't  over  four  years  old  now." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Euphemia,  "  I  know  !  It's  his  grand- 
child." 

"  Grandchild  ?  "  repeated  Pomona,  with  her  coun- 
tenance more  expressive  of  emotion  than  I  had  ever 
yet  seen  it. 

"  Yes,"  said  Euphemia  ;  "  but  how  long  are  they 
going  to  stay  ?  Where  did  you  tell  them  we 
were  ?  " 

"  They  didn't  say  how  long  they  was  goin'  to 
stay,"  answered  Pomona.  "  I  told  them  you  had 
gone  to  be  with  some  friends  in  the  country,  an' 
that  I  didn't  know  whether  you'd  be  home  to-night 
or  not." 

"How  could  you  tell  them  such  a  falsehood?" 
cried  Euphemia. 

"  That  was  no  falsehood,"  said  Pomona  ;  "  it  was 
true  as  truth.  If  you're  not  your  own  friends,  I 
don't  know  who  is.  An'  I  wasn't  a-goin'  to  tell  the 
boarder  where  you  was  till  I  found  out  whether  you 
wanted  me  to  do  it  or  not.  So  I  left  'em  an'  run 
over  to  old  John's,  an'  then  down  here." 

It  was  impossible  to  find  fault  with  the  excellent 
management  of  Pomona. 

"  What  were  they  doing  ?  "  asked  Euphemia. 

"  I  opened  the  parlor,  an'  she  was  in  there  with 


152  Rudder  Grange. 

the  child, — putting  it  to  sleep  on  the  sofa,  I  think. 
The  boarder  was  out  in  the  yard,  tryin'  to  teach 
Lord  Edward  some  tricks." 

"  He  had  better  look  out !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Oh,  the  dog's  chained  and  growlin'  fearful ! 
What  am  I  to  do  with  'em  ?  " 

This  was  a  difficult  point  to  decide.  If  we  went 
to  see  them,  we  might  as  well  break  up  our  camp, 
for  we  could  not  tell  when  we  should  be  able  to 
come  back  to  it. 

We  discussed  the  matter  very  anxiously,  and 
finally  concluded  that  under  the  circumstances,  and 
considering  what  Pomona  had  said  about  our  where- 
abouts, it  would  be  well  for  us  to  stay  where  we 
were  and  for  Pomona  to  take  charge  of  the  visitors. 
If  they  returned  to  the  city  that  evening,  she  was 
to  give  them  a  good  supper  before  they  went,  send- 
ing John  to  the  store  for  what  was  needed.  If 
they  remained  all  night,  she  could  get  breakfast  for 
them. 

"  We  can  write,"  said  Euphemia,  "  and  invite 
them  to  come  and  spend  some  days  with  us,  when 
we  are  at  home  and  everything  is  all  right.  I  want 
dreadfully  to  see  that  child,  but  I  don't  see  how  I 
can  do  it  now." 

"  No,"  said  I.  "They're  sure  to  stay  all  night  if 
we  go  up  to  the  house,  and  then  I  should  have  to 
have  the  tent  and  things  hauled  away,  for  I  couldn't 
leave  them  here." 


Rudder  Grange. 


153 


"  The  fact  is,"  said  Euphemia,  "  if  we  were  miles 
away,  in  the  woods  of  Maine,  we  couldn't  leave  our 
camp  to  see  anybody.  And  this  is  practically  the 


same. 


"  Certainly,"  said  I  ;  and  so  Pomona  went  away 
to  her  new  charge. 


CHAPTER  XI. 
The  hoarder's  Visit. 


OR  the  rest  of  the  afternoon,  and  indeed 
far  into  the  night,  our  conversation  con- 
sisted almost  entirely  of  conjectures  re- 
garding the  probable  condition  of  things 
at  the  house.  We  both  thought  we  had  done  right, 
but  we  felt  badly  about  it.  It  was  not  hospitable, 
to  be  sure  ;  but  then  I  should  have  no  other  holiday 
until  next  year,  and  our  friends  could  come  at  any 
time  to  see  us. 

The  next  morning  old  John  brought  a  note  from 
Pomona.  It  was  written  with  pencil  on  a  small 
piece  of  paper  torn  from  the  margin  of  a  newspaper, 
and  contained  the  words,  "  Here  yet." 

"  So  you've  got  company,"  said  old  John,  with  a 
smile.     "  That's  a  queer  gal  of  yourn.     She  says  I 
musn't  tell  'em  you're  here.     As  if  I'd  tell  'em !  " 
We  knew  well  enough  that  old  John  was  not  at 


Rudder  Grange.  155 

all  likely  to  do  anything  that  would  cut  off  the  nice 
little  revenue  he  was  making  out  of  our  camp,  and 
so  we  felt  no  concern  on  that  score. 

But  we  were  very  anxious  for  further  news,  and 
we  told  old  John  to  go  to  the  house  about  ten 
o'clock  and  ask  Pomona  to  send  us  another  note. 

We  waited,  in  a  very  disturbed  condition  of  mind, 
until  nearly  eleven  o'clock,  when  old  John  came 
with  a  verbal  message  from  Pomona  : 

"  She  says  she's  a-comin'  herself  as  soon  as  she 
can  get  a  chance  to  slip  off." 

This  was  not  pleasant  news.  It  filled  our  minds 
with  a  confused  mass  of  probabilities,  and  it  made 
us  feel  badly.  How  contemptible  it  seemed  to  be 
a  party  to  this  concealment  and  in  league  with  a 
servant-girl  who  has  to  "  slip  off  !  " 

Before  long,  Pomona  appeared,  quite  out  of 
breath. 

"  In  all  my  life,"  said  she,  "  I  never  see  people  like 
them  two.  I  thought  I  was  never  goin'  to  get  away." 

"  Are  they  there  yet  ?  "  cried  Euphemia.  "  How 
long  are  they  going  to  stay  ?  " 

"  Dear  knows  !  "  replied  Pomona.  "  Their  valise 
came  up  by  express  last  night." 

"  Oh,  we'll  have  to  go  up  to  the  house,"  said 
Euphemia.  "  It  won't  do  to  stay  away  any  longer." 

"  Well,"  said  Pomona,  fanning  herself  with  her 
apron,  "  if  you  know'd  all  I  know,  I  don't  think 
you'd  think  so." 


156  Rudder   Grange. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  said  Euphemia. 

"  Well,  ma'am,  they've  just  settled  down  an'  taken 
possession  of  the  whole  place.  He  says  to  me  that 
he  know'd  you'd  both  want  them  to  make  them- 
selves at  home,  just  as  if  you  was  there,  an'  they 
thought  they'd  better  do  it.  He  asked  me  did  I 
think  you  would  be  home  by  Monday,  an'  I  said  I 
didn't  know,  but  I  guessed  you  would.  So  says  he 
to  his  wife,  '  Won't  that  be  a  jolly  lark  ?  We'll  just 
keep  house  for  them  here  till  they  come/  So  he 
says  he  would  go  down  to  the  store  an'  order  some 
things,  if  there  wasn't  enough  in  the  house,  an'  he 
asked  her  to  see  what  would  be  needed,  which  she 
did,  an'  he's  gone  down  for  'em  now.  An'  she  says 
that,  as  it  was  Saturday,  she'd  see  that  the  house 
was  all  put  to  rights ;  an'  after  breakfast  she  set  me 
to  sweepin' ;  an'  it's  only  by  way  of  her  dustin'  the 
parlor  an'  givin'  me  the  little  girl  to  take  for  a  walk 
that  I  got  off  at  all." 

"  But  what  have  you  done  with  the  child  ?  "  ex- 
claimed Euphemia. 

"Oh,  I  left  her  at  old  Johnses." 

"And  so  you  think  they're  pleased  with  having 
the  house  to  themselves  ?  "  I  said. 

"  Pleased,  sir?"  replied  Pomona  ;  "  they're  tickled 
to  death." 

"  But  how  do  you  like  having  strangers  telling 
you  what  to  do  ?  "  asked  Euphemia. 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Pomona,  "  he's  no  stranger,  and 


Rudder  Grange.  157 

she's  real  pleasant,  an'  if  it  gives  you  a  good  camp 
out,  I  don't  mind." 

Euphemia  and  I  looked  at  each  other.  Here  was 
true  allegiance.  We  would  remember  this. 

Pomona  now  hurried  off,  and  we  seriously  dis- 
cussed the  matter,  and  soon  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  while  it  might  be  the  truest  hospitality  to  let 
our  friends  stay  at  our  house  for  a  day  or  two  and 
enjoy  themselves,  it  would  not  do  for  us  to  allow 
ourselves  to  be  governed  by  a  too  delicate  senti- 
mentality. We  must  go  home  and  act  our  part  of 
host  and  hostess. 

Mrs.  Old  John  had  been  at  the  camp  ever  since 
breakfast-time,  giving  the  place  a  Saturday  clean- 
ing. What  she  had  found  to  occupy  her  for  so  long 
a  time  I  could  not  imagine,  but  in  her  efforts  to 
put  in  a  full  half-day's  work,  I  have  no  doubt  she 
scrubbed  some  of  the  trees.  We  had  been  so  fully 
occupied  with  our  own  affairs  that  we  had  paid  very 
little  attention  to  her,  but  she  had  probably  heard 
pretty  much  all  that  had  been  said. 

At  noon  we  paid  her  (giving  her,  at  her  sugges- 
tion, something  extra  in  lieu  of  the  midday  meal, 
which  she  did  not  stay  to  take),  and  told  her  to  send 
her  husband,  with  his  wagon,  as  soon  as  possible,  as 
we  intended  to  break  up  our  encampment.  We 
determined  that  we  would  pack  everything  in  John's 
wagon,  and  let  him  take  the  load  to  his  house,  and 
keep  it  there  until  Monday,  when  I  would  have  the 


158  Rudder  Grange. 

tent  and  accompaniments  expressed  to  their  owner. 
We  would  go  home  and  join  our  friends.  It  would 
not  be  necessary  to  say  where  we  had  been. 

It  was  hard  for  us  to  break  up  our  camp.  In 
many  respects  we  had  enjoyed  the  novel  experience, 
and  we  had  fully  expected,  during  the  next  week,  to 
make  up  for  all  our  short-comings  and  mistakes.  It 
seemed  like  losing  all  our  labor  and  expenditure,  to 
break  up  now,  but  there  was  no  help  for  it.  Our 
place  was  at  home. 

We  did  not  wish  to  invite  our  friends  to  the  camp. 
They  would  certainly  have  come  had  they  known 
we  were  there,  but  we  had  no  accommodations  for 
them,  neither  had  we  any  desire  for  even  transient 
visitors.  Besides,  we  both  thought  that  we  would 
prefer  that  our  ex-boarder  and  his  wife  should  not 
know  that  we  were  encamped  on  that  little  penin- 
sula. 

We  set  to  work  to  pack  up  and  get  ready  for 
moving,  but  the  afternoon  passed  away  without 
bringing  old  John.  Between  five  and  six-o'clock 
along  came  his  oldest  boy,  with  a  bucket  of  water. 

"  I'm  to  go  back  after  the  milk,"  he  said. 

"  Stop  !  "  I  cried.  "  Where  is  your  father  and  his 
wagon  ?  We've  been  waiting  for  him  for  hours." 

"  The  horse  is  si I  mean  he's  gone  to  Ballville 

for  oats." 

"  And  why  didn't  he  send  and  tell  me  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  There  wasn't  nobody  to  send,"  answered  the  boy. 


Rudder  Grange.  159 

"  You  are  not  telling  the  truth,"  exclaimed  Eu- 
phemia ;  "  there  is  always  some  one  to  send  in  a 
family  like  yours." 

To  this  the  boy  made  no  answer,  but  again  said 
that  he  would  go  after  the  milk. 

"  We  want  you  to  bring  no  milk,"  I  cried,  no\v 
quite  angry.  "  I  want  you  to  go  down  to  the  sta- 
tion, and  tell  the  driver  of  the  express-wagon  to 
come  here  immediately.  Do  you  understand  ?  Im- 
mediately." 

The  boy  declared  he  understood,  and  started  off 
quite  willingly.  We  did  not  prefer  to  have  the  ex- 
press-wagon, for  it  was  too  public  a  conveyance,  and 
besides,  old  John  knew  exactly  how  to  do  what  was 
required.  But  we  need  not  have  troubled  ourselves. 
The  express-wagon  did  not  come. 

When  it  became  dark,  we  saw  that  we  could  not 
leave  that  night.  Even  if  a  wagon  did  come,  it 
would  not  be  safe  to  drive  over  the  fields  in  the  dark- 
ness. And  we  could  not  go  away  and  leave  the 
camp-equipage.  I  proposed  that  Euphemia  should 
go  up  to  the  house,  while  I  remained  in  camp.  But 
she  declined.  We  would  keep  together,  whatever 
happened,  she  said. 

We  unpacked  our  cooking-utensils  and  provisions, 
and  had  supper.  There  was  no  milk  for  our  coffee, 
but  we  did  not  care.  The  evening  did  not  pass 
gayly.  We  were  annoyed  by  the  conduct  of  old 
John  and  the  express-boy,  though,  perhaps,  it  was 


160  Rudder  Grange. 

not  their  fault.  I  had  given  them  no  notice  that  I 
should  need  them. 

And  we  were  greatly  troubled  at  the  continu- 
ance of  the  secrecy  and  subterfuge  which  now  had 
become  really  necessary,  if  we  did  not  wish  to  hurt 
our  friends'  feelings. 

The  first  thing  that  I  thought  of,  when  I  opened 
my  eyes  in  the  morning,  was  the  fact  that  we  would 
have  to  stay  there  all  day,  for  we  could  not  move  on 
Sunday. 

But  Euphemia  did  not  agree  with  me.  After 
breakfast  (we  found  that  the  water  and  the  milk  had 
been  brought  very  early,  before  we  were  up)  she 
stated  that  she  did  not  intend  to  be  treated  in  this 
way.  She  was  going  to  old  John's  house  herself; 
and  away  she  went. 

In  less  than  half  an  hour,  she  returned  followed 
by  old  John  and  his  wife,  both  looking  much  as  if 
they  had  been  whipped. 

"  These  people,"  said  she,  "  have  entered  into  a 
conspiracy  against  us.  I  have  questioned  them 
thoroughly,  and  have  made  them  answer  me.  The 
horse  was  at  home  yesterday,  and  the  boy  did  not 
go  after  the  express-wagon.  They  thought  that  if 
they  could  keep  us  here,  until  our  company  had 
gone,  we  would  stay  as  long  as  we  originally  in- 
tended, and  they  would  continue  to  make  money 
out  of  us.  But  they  are  mistaken.  We  are  going 
home  immediately." 


'  f          -  'Vv4yjn>Ti'  ;    ^ 


Rudder  Grange.  163 

At  this  point  I  could  not  help  thinking  that  Eu- 
phemia  might  have  consulted  me  in  regard  to  her 
determination,  but  she  was  very  much  in  earnest, 
and  I  would  not  have  any  discussion  before  these 
people. 

"  Now,  listen  ! "  said  Euphemia,  addressing  the 
downcast,  couple,  "  we  are  going  home,  and  you  two 
are  to  stay  here  all  this  day  and  to-night,  and  take 
care  of  these  things.  You  can't  work  to-day,  and 
you  can  shut  up  your  house,  and  bring  your  whole 
family  here  if  you  choose.  We  will  pay  you  for  the 
service, — although  you  do  not  deserve  a  cent, — and 
we  will  leave  enough  here  for  you  to  eat.  You  must 
bring  your  own  sheets  and  pillow-cases,  and  stay 
here  until  we  see  you  on  Monday  morning." 

Old  John  and  his  wife  agreed  to  this  plan  with 
the  greatest  alacrity,  apparently  well  pleased  to  get 
off  so  easily  ;  and,  having  locked  up  the  smaller 
articles  of  camp-furniture,  we  filled  a  valise  with  our 
personal  baggage  and  started  off  home. 

Our  house  and  grounds  never  looked  prettier  than 
they  did  that  morning,  as  we  stood  at  the  gate. 
Lord  Edward  barked  a  welcome  from  his  shed,  and 
before  we  reached  the  door,  Pomona  came  running 
out,  her  face  radiant. 

"I'm  awful  glad  to  see  you  back,"  she  said; 
"  though  I'd  never  have  said  so  while  you  was  in 
camp." 

I  patted    the  dog   and    looked    into  the   garden. 


1 64  Rudder  Grange. 

Everything  was  growing  beautifully.  Euphemia 
rushed  to  the  poultry-yard.  It  was  in  first-rate 
order,  and  there  were  two  broods  of  little  yellow 
puffy  chicks. 

Down  on  her  knees  went  my  wife,  to  pick  up 
the  little  creatures,  one  by  one,  press  their  downy 
bodies  to  her  cheek,  and  call  them  tootsy-wootsies, 
and  away  went  I  to  the  barn,  followed  by  Pomona, 
and  soon  afterward  by  Euphemia. 

The  cow  was  all  right. 

"  I've  been  making  butter,"  said  Pomona,  "  though 
it  don't  look  exactly  like  it  ought  to,  yet,  an'  the 
skim-milk  I  didn't  know  what  to  do  with,  so  I  gave 
it  to  old  John.  He  came  for  it  every  day,  an'  was 
real  angry  once  because  I  had  given  a  lot  of  it  to 
the  dog,  an'  couldn't  let  him  have  but  a  pint. 

"  He  ought  to  have  been  angry,"  said  I  to  Euphe- 
mia, as  we  walked  up  to  the  house.  "  He  got  ten 
cents  a  quart  for  that  milk." 

We  laughed,  and  didn't  care.  We  were  too  glad 
to  be  at  home. 

"  But  where  are  our  friends?  "I  asked  Pomona. 
We  had  actually  forgotten  them. 

"  Oh  !  they're  gone  out  for  a  walk,"  said  she. 
"  They  started  off  right  after  breakfast." 

We  were  not  sorry  for  this.  It  would  be  so  much 
better  to  see  our  dear  home  again  when  there  was 
nobody  there  but  ourselves.  In-doors  we  rushed. 
Our  absence  had  been  like  j-ain  on  a  garden. 


Rudder  Grange.  165 

Everything  now  seemed  fresher  and  brighter  and 
more  delightful.  We  went  from  room  to  room, 
and  seemed  to  appreciate  better  than  ever  what  a 
charming  home  we  possessed. 

We  were  so  full  of  the  delights  of  our  return  that 
we  forgot  all  about  the  Sunday  dinner  and  our 
guests,  but  Pomona,  whom  my  wife  was  training  to 
be  an  excellent  cook,  did  not  forget,  and  Euphemia 
was  summoned  to  a  consultation  in  the  kitchen. 

Dinner  was  late ;  but  our  guests  were  later.  We 
waited  as  long  as  the  state  of  the  provisions  and  our 
appetites  would  permit,  and  then  we  sat  down  to 
the  table  and  began  to  eat  slowly.  But  they  did 
not  come.  We  finished  our  meal,  and  they  were 
still  absent.  We  now  became  quite  anxious,  and  I 
proposed  to  Euphemia  that  we  should  go  and  look 
for  them. 

We  started  out,  and  our  steps  naturally  turned 
toward  the  river.  An  unpleasant  thought  began  to 
crowd  itself  into  my  mind,  and  perhaps  the  same 
thing  happened  to  Euphemia,  for  without  saying 
anything  to  each  other,  we  both  turned  toward  the 
path  that  led  to  the  peninsula.  We  crossed  the 
field,  climbed  the  fence,  and  there,  in  front  of  the 
tent  sat  our  old  boarder  splitting  sticks  with  the 
camp-hatchet. 

"  Hurrah ! "  he  cried,  springing  to  his  feet  when 
he  saw  us.  "  How  glad  I  am  to  see  you  back ! 
When  did  you  return?  Isn't  this  splendid?" 


1 66 


Rudder  Grange. 


"  What  ?  "  I  said,  as  we  shook  hands. 

"  Why  this,"  he  cried,  pointing  to  the  tent. 
"  Don't  you  see  ?  We're  camping  out." 

"  You  are  ?  "  I  exclaimed,  looking  around  for  his 
wife,  while  Euphemia  stood  motionless,  actually  un- 
able to  make  a  remark. 

"  Certainly  we  are.     It's   the   rarest  bit  of  luck. 


My  wife  and  Adele  will  be  here  directly.  They've 
gone  to  look  for  water-cresses.  But  I  must  tell  you 
how  I  came  to  make  this  magnificent  find.  We 
started  out  for  a  walk  this  morning,  and  we  hap- 
pened to  hit  on  this  place,  and  here  we  saw  this 
gorgeous  tent  with  nobody  near  but  a  little  tow- 
headed  boy." 


Rudder  Grange.  167 

"  Only  a  boy  ?"  cried  Euphemia. 

"  Yes,  a  young  shaver  of  about  nine  or  ten.  I 
asked  him  what  he  was  doing  here,  and  he  told  me 
that  this  tent  belonged  to  a  gentleman  who  had 
gone  away,  and  that  he  was  here  to  watch  it  until 
he  came  back.  Then  I  asked  him  how  long  the 
owner  would  probably  be  away,  and  he  said  he  sup- 
posed for  a  day  or  two.  Then  a  capital  idea  struck 
me.  I  offered  the  boy  a  dollar  to  let  me  take  his 
place ;  I  knew  that  any  sensible  man  would  rather 
have  me  in  charge  of  his  tent,  than  a  young  codger 
like  that.  The  boy  agreed  as  quick  as  lightning, 
and  I  paid  him  and  sent  him  off.  You  see  how  little 
he  was  to  be  trusted  !  The  owner  of  this  tent  will 
be  under  the  greatest  obligations  to  me.  Just  look 
at  it !  "  he  cried.  "  Beds,  table,  stove, — everything 
anybody  could  want.  I've  camped  out  lots  of  times, 
but  never  had  such  a  tent  as  this.  I  intended 
coming  up  this  afternoon  after  my  valise,  and  to  tell 
your  servant  where  we  are.  But  here  is  my  wife 
and  little  Adele." 

In  the  midst  of  the  salutations  and  the  mutual 
surprise,  Euphemia  cried : 

"  But  you  don't  expect  to  camp  out,  now  ?  You 
are  coming  back  to  our  house?" 

"  You  see,"  said  the  ex-boarder,  "we  should  never 
have  thought  of  doing  anything  so  rude,  had  we 
supposed  you  would  have  returned  so  soon.  But 
your  servant-girl  gave  us  to  understand  that  you 


1 68  Rudder  Grange. 

would  not  be  back  for  days,  and  so  we  felt  free  to 
go  at  any  time  ;  and  I  did  not  hesitate  to  make  this 
arrangement.  And  now  that  I  have  really  taken 
the  responsibility  of  the  tent  and  fixtures  on  myself, 
I  don't  think  it  would  be  right  to  go  away  and  leave 
the  place,  especially  as  I  don't  know  where  to  find 
that  boy.  The  owner  will  be  back  in  a  day  or  two, 
and  I  would  like  to  explain  matters  to  him  and  give 
up  the  property  in  good  order  into  his  hands.  And, 
to  tell  the  truth,  we  both  adore  camping-out,  and  we 
may  never  have  such  a  chance  again.  We  can  live 
here  splendidly.  I  went  out  to  forage  this  morning, 
and  found  an  old  fellow  living  near  by  who  sold  me 
a  lot  of  provisions — even  some  coffee  and  sugar — 
and  he's  to  bring  us  some  milk.  We're  going  to 
have  supper  in  about  an  hour ;  won't  you  stay  and 
take  a  camp-meal  with  us?  It  will  be  a  novelty  for 
you,  at  any  rate." 

We  declined  this  invitation,  as  we  had  so  lately 
dined.  I  looked  at  Euphemiawith  a  question  in  my 
eye.  She  understood  me,  and  gently  shook  her 
head.  It  would  be  a  shame  to  make  any  explana- 
tions which  might  put  an  end  to  this  bit  of  camp- 
life,  which  evidently  was  so  eagerly  enjoyed  by  our 
old  friend.  But  we  insisted  that  they  should  come 
up  to  the  house  and  see  us,  and  they  agreed  to  dine 
with  us  the  next  evening.  On  Tuesday,  they  must 
return  to  the  city. 

"  Now,  this  is  what  I  call  real  hospitality,"  said 


Rudder  Grange.  169 

the  ex-boarder,  warmly  grasping  my  hand.  I  could 
not  help  agreeing  with  him. 

As  we  walked  home,  I  happened  to  look  back  and 
saw  old  John  going  over  the  fields  toward  the  camp, 
carrying  a  little  tin-pail  and  a  water-bucket. 

The  next  day,  toward  evening,  a  storm  set  in,  and 
at  the  hour  fixed  for  our  dinner,  the  rain  was  pour- 
ing down  in  such  torrents  that  we  did  not  expect 
our  guests.  After  dinner  the  rain  ceased,  and  as 
we  supposed  that  they  might  not  have  made  any 
preparations  for  a  meal,  Euphemia  packed  up  some 
dinner  for  them  in  a  basket,  and  I  took  it  down  to 
the  camp. 

They  were  glad  to  see  me,  and  said  they  had  a 
glorious  time  all  day.  They  were  up  before  sun- 
rise, and  had  explored,  tramped,  boated,  and  I  know 
not  what  else. 

My  basket  was  very  acceptable,  and  I  would  have 
stayed  awhile  with  them,  but  as  they  were  obliged 
to  eat  in  the  tent,  there  was  no  place  for  me  to 
sit,  it  being  too  wet  outside,  and  so  I  soon  came 
away. 

We  were  in  doubt  whether  or  not  to  tell  our 
friends  the  true  history  of  the  camp.  I  thought 
that  it  was  not  right  to  keep  up  the  deception,  while 
Euphemia  declared  that  if  they  were  sensitive  peo- 
ple, they  would  feel  very  badly  at  having  broken 
up  our  plans  by  their  visit,  and  then  having  appro- 
priated our  camp  to  themselves.  She  thought  it 


Rudder  Grange. 


would  be  the  part  of  magnanimity  to  say  nothing 
about  it. 

I  could  not  help  seeing  a  good  deal  of  force  in  her 
arguments,  although  I  wished  very  much  to  set  the 
thing  straight,  and  we  discussed  the  matter  again  as 
we  walked  down  to  the  camp,  after  breakfast  next 
morning. 

There  we  found  old  John  sitting  on  a  stump.  He 
said  nothing,  but  handed  me  a  note  written  with  a 

lead-pencil  on  a  card. 
It  was  from  our  ex- 
boarder,  and  informed 
me  that  early  that 
morning  he  had  found 
that  there  was  a  tug 
lying  in  the  river, 
which  would  soon  start 
for  the  city.  He  also 
had  found  that  he 
could  get  passage  on  her  for  his  party,  and  as  this 
was  such  a  splendid  chance  to  go  home  without  the 
bother  of  getting  up  to  the  station,  he  had  just 
bundled  his  family  and  his  valise  on  board,  and 
was  very  sorry  that  they  did  not  have  time  to  come 
up  and  take  leave  of  us.  The  tent  he  left  in 
charge  of  a  very  respectable  man,  from  whom  he 
had  had  supplies. 

That  morning  I  had  the  camp-equipage  packed  up 
and  expressed  to  its  owner.  We  did  not  care  to 


Rudder  Grange. 


171 


camp  out  any  more  that  season,  but  thought  it 
would  be  better  to  spend  the  rest  of  my  vacation  at 
the  sea-shore. 

Our  ex-boarder  wrote  to  us  that  he  and  his  wife 
were  anxious  that  we  should  return  their  visit  dur- 
ing my  holidays ;  but  as  we  did  not  see  exactly  how 
we  could  return  a  visit  of  the  kind,  we  did  not  try 
to  do  it. 


CHAPTER   XII. 
Lord  Edward  and  the  Tree-Man. 


T  was  winter  at  Rudder  Grange.  The 
season  was  the  same  at  other  places, 
but  that  fact  did  not  particularly  inter- 
est Euphemia  and  myself.  It  was  win- 
ter with  us,  and  we  were  ready  for  it. 
That  was  the  great  point,  and  it  made  us  proud  to 
think  that  we  had  not  been  taken  unawares,  not- 
withstanding the  many  things  that  were  to  be 
thought  of  on  a  little  farm  like  ours. 

It  is  true  that  we  had  always  been  prepared  for 
winter,  wherever  we  had  lived ;  but  this  was  a  dif- 
ferent case.  In  other  days  it  did  not  matter  much 
whether  we  were  ready  or  not ;  but  now  our  house, 
our  cow,  our  poultry,  and  indeed  ourselves,  might 
have  suffered, — there  is  no  way  of  finding  out  ex- 


Rudder  Grange.  1 73 

actly  how  much, — if  we  had  not  made  all  possible 
preparations  for  the  coming  of  cold  weather. 

But  there  was  a  great  deal  yet  to  be  thought  of 
and  planned  out,  although  we  were  ready  for  winter. 
The  next  thing  to  think  of  was  spring. 

We  laid  out  the  farm.  We  decided  where  we 
would  have  wheat,  corn,  potatoes,  and  oats.  We 
would  have  a  man  by  the  day  to  sow  and  reap.  The 
intermediate  processes  I  thought  I  could  attend  to 
myself. 

Everything  was  talked  over,  ciphered  over,  and 
freely  discussed  by  my  wife  and  myself,  except  one 
matter,  which  I  planned  and  worked  out  alone,  do- 
ing most  of  the  necessary  calculations  at  my  office, 
so  as  not  to  excite  Euphemia's  curiosity. 

I  had  determined  to  buy  a  horse.  This  would  be 
one  of  the  most  important  events  of  our  married 
life,  and  it  demanded  a  great  deal  of  thought,  which 
I  gave  it. 

The  horse  was  chosen  for  me  by  a  friend.  He 
was  an  excellent  beast  (the  horse),  excelling,  as  my 
friend  told  me,  in  muscle  and  wit.  Nothing  better 
than  this  could  be  said  about  a  horse.  He  was  a 
sorrel  animal,  quite  handsome,  gentle  enough  for 
Euphemia  to  drive,  and  not  too  high-minded  to  do 
a  little  farm-work  if  necessary.  He  was  exactly  the 
animal  I  needed. 

The  carriage  was  not  quite  such  a  success.  The 
horse  having  cost  a  good  deal  more  than  I  expected 


174  Rudder  Grange. 

to  pay,  I  found  that  I  could  only  afford  a  second- 
hand carriage.  I  bought  a  good,  serviceable  vehicle, 
which  would  hold  four  persons,  if  necessary,  and 
there  was  room  enough  to  pack  in  it  all  sorts  of 
parcels  and  baskets.  It  was  with  great  satisfaction 
that  I  contemplated  this  feature  of  the  carriage, 
which  was  a  rather  rusty-looking  affair,  although 
sound  and  strong  enough.  The  harness  was  new, 
and  set  off  the  horse  admirably. 

On  the  afternoon  when  my  purchases  were  com- 
pleted, I  did  not  come  home  by  the  train.  I  drove 
home  in  my  own  carriage,  drawn  by  my  own  horse ! 
The  ten  miles'  drive  was  over  a  smooth  road,  and 
the  sorrel  traveled  well.  If  I  had  been  a  line  of 
kings  a  mile  long,  all  in  their  chariots  of  state,  with 
gold  and  silver,  and  outriders,  and  music,  and  ban- 
ners waving  in  the  wind,  I  could  not  have  been 
prouder  than  when  I  drew  up  in  front  of  my  house. 

There  was  a  wagon-gate  at  one  side  of  the  front 
fence  which  had  never  been  used  except  by  the  men 
who  brought  coal,  and  I  got  out  and  opened  this, 
very  quietly,  so  as  not  to  attract  the  attention  of 
Euphemia.  It  was  earlier  than  I  usually  returned, 
and  she  would  not  be  expecting  me.  I  was  then 
about  to  lead  the  horse  up  a  somewhat  grass- grown 
carriage-way  to  the  front  door,  but  I  reflected  that 
Euphemia  might  be  looking  out  of  some  of  the 
windows  and  I  had  better  drive  up.  So  I  got  in 
and  drove  very  slowly  to  the  door. 


Rudder  Grange.  175 

However,  she  heard  the  unaccustomed  noise  of 
wheels,  and  looked  out  of  the  parlor  window.  She 
did  not  see  me,  but  immediately  came  around  to 
the  door.  I  hurried  out  of  the  carnage  so  quickly 
that,  not  being  familiar  with  the  steps,  I  barely  es- 
caped tripping. 

When  she  opened  the  front  door  she  was  sur- 
prised to  see  me  standing  by  the  horse. 

"  Have  you  hired  a  carriage  ?  "  she  cried.  "  Are 
we  going  to  drive  ?  " 

"  My  dear,"  said  I,  as  I  took  her  by  the  hand,  "we 
are  going  to  drive.  But  I  have  not  hired  a  carriage. 
I  have  bought  one.  Do  you  see  this  horse  ?  He  is 
ours — our  own  horse." 

If  you  could  have  seen  the  face  that  was  turned 
up  to  me, — all  you  other  men  in  the  world, — you 
would  have  torn  your  hair  in  despair. 

Afterward  she  went  around  and  around  that 
horse ;  she  patted  his  smooth  sides ;  she  looked, 
with  admiration,  at  his  strong,  well-formed  legs;  she 
stroked  his  head  ;  she  smoothed  his  mane  ;  she  was 
brimful  of  joy. 

When  I  had  brought  the  horse  some  water  in  a 
bucket — and  what  a  pleasure  it  was  to  water  one's 
own  horse  ! — Euphemia  rushed  into  the  house  and 
got  her  hat  and  cloak,  and  we  took  a  little  drive. 

I  doubt  if  any  horse  ever  drew  two  happier  peo- 
ple. Euphemia  said  but  little  about  the  carriage. 
That  was  a  necessary  adjunct,  and  it  was  good 


176  Rudder  Grange. 

enough  for  the  present.  But  the  horse!  How  nobly 
and  with  what  vigor  he  pulled  us  up  the  hills  and 
how  carefully  and  strongly  he  held  the  carriage  back 
as  we  went  down  !  How  easily  he  trotted  over  the 
level  road,  caring  nothing  for  the  ten  miles  he  had 
gone  that  afternoon  !  What  a  sensation  of  power 
it  gave  us  to  think  that  all  that  strength  and  speed 
and  endurance  was  ours,  that  it  would  go  where  we 
wished,  that  it  would  wait  for  us  as  long  as  we 
chose,  that  it  was  at  our  service  day  and  night, 
that  it  was  a  horse,  and  we  owned  it ! 

When  we  returned,  Pomona  saw  us  drive  in, — she 
had  not  seen  us  go, — and  when  she  heard  the  news 
she  was  as  wild  with  proud  delight  as  anybody. 
She  wanted  to  unharness  him,  but  this  I  could  not 
allow.  We  did  not  wish  to  be  selfish,  but  after  she 
had  seen  and  heard  what  we  thought  was  enough 
for  her,  we  were  obliged  to  send  her  back  to  the 
kitchen  for  the  sake  of  the  dinner.  «' 

Then  we  unharnessed  him.  I  say  we,  for  Eu- 
phemia  stood  by  and  I  explained  everything,  for 
some  day,  she  said,  she  might  want  to  do  jt  herself. 
Then  I  led  him  into  the  stable.  How  nobly  he 
trod,  and  how  finely  his  hoofs  sounded  on  the  stable 
floor! 

There  was  hay  in  the  mow  and  I  had  brought  a 
bag  of  oats  under  the  seat  of  the  carriage. 

"Isn't  it  just  delightful,"  said  Euphemia,  "  that 
we  haven't  any  man?  If  we  had  a  man  he  would 


Rudder   Grange.  177 

take  the  horse  at  the  door,  and  we  should  be  de- 
prived of  all  this.  It  wouldn't  be  half  like  owning  a 
horse." 

In  the  morning  I  drove  down  to  the  station,  Eu- 
phemia  by  my  side.  She  drove  back  and  old  John 
came  up  and  attended  to  the  horse.  This  he  was 
to  do,  for  the  present,  for  a  small  stipend.  In  the 
afternoon  Euphemia  came  down  after  me.  How  I 
enjoyed  those  drives !  Before  this  I  had  thought  it 
ever  so  much  more  pleasant  and  healthful  to  walk  to 
and  from  the  station  than  to  ride,  but  then  I  did  not 
own  a  horse.  At  night  I  attended  to  everything, 
Euphemia  generally  following  me  about  the  stable 
with  a  lantern.  When  the  days  grew  longer  we 
would  have  delightful  drives  after  dinner,  and  even 
now  we  planned  to  have  early  breakfasts,  and  go  to 
the  station  by  the  longest  possible  way. 

One  day,  in  the  following  spring,  I  was  driving 
home  from  the  station  with  Euphemia, — we  seldom 
took  pleasure-drives  now,  we  were  so  busy  on  the 
place, — and  as  we  reached  the  house  I  heard  the  dog 
barking  savagely.  He  was  loose  in  the  little  orchard 
by  the  side  of  the  house.  As  I  drove  in,  Pomona 
came  running  to  the  carriage. 

"  Man  up  a  tree !  "  she  shouted. 

I  helped  Euphemia  out,  left  the  horse  standing  by 
the  door,  and  ran  to  the  dog,  followed  by  my  wife 
and  Pomona.  Sure  enough,  there  was  a  man  up  a 
tree,  and  Lord  Edward  was  doing  his  best  to  get  at 

8* 


1 78  Rudder   Grange. 

him,  springing  wildly  at  the  tree  and  fairly  shaking 
with  rage. 

I  looked  up  at  the  man.  He  was  a  thoroughbred 
tramp,  burly,  dirty,  generally  unkempt,  but,  unlike 
most  tramps,  he  looked  very  much  frightened.  His 
position,  on  a  high  crotch  of  an  apple-tree,  was  not 
altogether  comfortable,  and  although,  for  the  pres- 
ent, it  was  safe,  the  fellow  seemed  to  have  a  waver- 
ing  faith  in  the  strength  of  apple-tree  branches,  and 
the  moment  he  saw  me,  he  earnestly  besought  me 
to  take  that  dog  away,  and  let  him  down. 

I  made  no  answer,  but  turning  to  Pomona,  I  asked 
her  what  this  all  meant. 

"  Why,  sir,  you  see,"  said  she,  '*  I  was  in  the 
kitchen  bakin'  pies,  an'  this  fellow  must  have  got 
over  the  fence  at  the  side  of  the  house,  for  the  dog 
didn't  see  him,  and  the  first  thing  I  know'd  he  was 
stickin'  his  head  in  the  window,  an'  he  asked  me  to 
give  him  somethin'  to  eat.  An'  when  I  said  I'd  see 
in  a  minute  if  there  was  anything  for  him,  he  says  to 
me,  'Gim-me  a  piece  of  one  of  them  pies/ — pies 
I'd  just  baked  an'  was  settin'  to  cool  on  the  kitchen 
table  !  'No,  sir,'  says  I,  '  I'm  not  goin'  to  cut  one 
of  them  pies  for  you  or  any  one  like  you.'  'All 
right ! '  says  he.  '  I'll  come  in  an'  help  myself.'  He 
must  have  known  there  was  no  man  about,  an',  corn- 
in*  the  way  he  did,  he  hadn't  seen  the  dog.  So  he 
come  round  to  the  kitchen  door,  but  I  shot  out  be- 
fore he  got  there  an'  unchained  Lord  Edward.  I 


I    1-OOK.fc.L)    Vf   AT   THE    MAN. 


Rudder  Grange. 


181 


guess  he  saw  the  dog,  when  he  got  to  the  door,  an' 
at  any  rate  he  heard  the  chain  clankin'  an*  he  didn't 
go  in,  but  just  put  for  the  gate.  But  Lord  Edward 
was  after  him  so  quick  that  he  hadn't  no  time  to  go 
to  no  gates.  It  was  all  he  could  do  to  scoot  up  this 
tree,  an'  if  he'd 
been  a  mill- 
ionth part  of 
a  minute  later 
he'd  'a'  been  in 
another  world 
by  this  time." 
The  man, 
who  had  not 
attempted  to 
interrupt  Po- 
mona's speech, 
now  began 
again  to  im- 
plore me  to  let 
him  down, 
while  Euphe- 
mia  looked 
pitifully  at  "•>  " 

him,  and  was  about,  I  think,  to  intercede  with  me 
in  his  favor,  but  my  attention  was  drawn  off  from 
her,  by  the  strange  conduct  of  the  dog.  Believing,  I 
suppose,  that  he  might  leave  the  tramp  for  a  mo- 
ment, now  that  I  had  arrived,  he  had  dashed  away 


182 


Rudder  Grange. 


to  another  tree,  where  he  was 
barking  furiously,  standing  on 
his  hind  legs  and 
/   clawing    at    the 

trunk. 

-  "What's       the 

matter  over  there?"  I 
asked. 

"  Oh,  that's  the  other 
fellow,"   said    Pomona. 
"He's  no  harm."     And 
then,     as     the     tramp 
made   a   movement  as 
if    he    would    try     to 
come    down    and    make   a 
rush  for  safety  during  the 
absence    of    the    dog,    she 
called    out,     "Here,    boy! 
here,  boy  !  "  and  in  an  instant 
Lord  Edward  was  again  raging  at 
his   post,  at  the  foot  of   the  apple- 
tree. 

I  was  grievously  puzzled  at  all 
this,  and  walked  over  to  the  other 
tree,  followed,  as  before,  by  Euphe- 
mia  and  Pomona. 

"  This  one,"  said  the  latter  "  is  a 

tree-man " 

"  I  should  think  so,"  said  I,  as  I  caught  sight  of  a 


Rudder  Grange.  183 

person  in  gray  trousers  standing  among  the  branches 
of  a  cherry-tree  not  very  far  from  the  kitchen  door. 
The  tree  was  not  a  large  one,  and  the  branches  were 
not  strong  enough  to  allow  him  to  sit  down  on 
them,  although  they  supported  him  well  enough,  as 
he  stood  close  to  the  trunk  just  out  of  reach  of  Lord 
Edward. 

"  This  is  a  very  unpleasant  position,  sir,"  said  he, 
when  I  reached  the  tree.  "  I  simply  came  into  your 
yard,  on  a  matter  of  business,  and  finding  that  rag- 
ing beast  attacking  a  person  in  a  tree,  I  had  barely 
time  to  get  up  into  this  tree  myself,  before  he 
dashed  at  me.  Luckily  I  was  out  of  his  reach  ;  but 
I  very  much  fear  I  have  lost  some  of  my  property." 

"  No,  he  hasn't,"  said  Pomona.  "  It  was  a  big 
book  he  dropped.  I  picked  it  up  and  took  it  into 
the  house.  It's  full  of  pictures  of  pears  and  peaches 
and  flowers.  I've  been  lookin'  at  it.  That's  how  I 
knew  what  he  was.  An'  there  was  no  call  for  his 
gettin'  up  a  tree.  Lord  Edward  never  would  have 
gone  after  him  if  he  hadn't  run  as  if  he  had  guilt  on 
his  soul." 

"  I  suppose,  then,"  said  I,  addressing  the  indi- 
vidual in  the  cherry-tree,  "  that  you  came  here  to 
sell  me  some  trees." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  he  quickly,  "  trees,  shrubs,  vines, 
evergreens, — everything  suitable  for  a  gentleman's 
country  villa.  I  can  sell  you  something  quite  re- 
markable, sir,  in  the  way  of  cherry-trees, — French 


184  Rudder   Grange. 

ones,  just  imported ;  bear  fruit  three  times  the  size 
of  anything  that  could  be  produced  on  a  tree  like 
this.  And  pears — fruit  of  the  finest  flavor  and  enor- 
mous size " 

"  Yes/'  said  Pomona.  "  I  seen  them  in  the  book. 
But  they  must  grow  on  a  ground-vine.  No  tree 
couldn't  hold  such  pears  as  them." 

Here  Euphemia  reproved  Pomona's  forwardness, 
and  I  invited  the  tree-agent  to  get  down  out  of  the 
tree. 

" Thank  you,"  said  he;  "but  not  while  that  dog 
is  loose.  If  you  will  kindly  chain  him  up,  I  will 
get  my  book,  and  show  you  specimens  of  some  of 
the  finest  small  fruit  in  the  world,  all  imported  from 
the  first  nurseries  of  Europe — the  Redgold  Amber 
Muscat  grape, — the " 

"  Oh,  please  let  him  down  !  "  said  Euphemia,  her 
eyes  beginning  to  sparkle. 

I  slowly  walked  toward  the  tramp-tree,  revolving 
various  matters  in  my  mind.  We  had  not  spent 
much  money  on  the  place  during  the  winter,  and  we 
now  had  a  small  sum  which  we  intended  to  use  for 
the  advantage  of  the  farm,  but  had  not  yet  decided 
what  to  do  with  it.  It  behooved  me  to  be  careful. 

I  told  Pomona  to  run  and  get  me  the  dog-chain, 
and  I  stood  under  the  tree,  listening,  as  well  as  I 
could,  to  the  tree-agent  talking  to  Euphemia,  and 
paying  no  attention  to  the  impassioned  entreaties 
of  the  tramp  in  the  crotch  above  me.  When  the 


Rudder  Grange. 


185 


chain  was  brought,  I  hooked  one  end  of  it  in  Lord 
Edward's  collar,  and  then  I  took  a  firm  grasp  of  the 
other.  Telling  Pomona  to  bring  the  tree-agent's 
book  from  the  house,  I  called  to  that  individual  to 
get  down  from  his  tree.  He  promptly  obeyed,  and 
taking  the  book  from  Pomona,  began  to  show  the 
pictures  to  Euphemia. 

"You  had  better  hurry,  sir,"  I   called  out.     "I 


can't  hold  this  dog  very  long."  And,  indeed,  Lord 
Edward  had  made  a  run  toward  the  agent,  which 
jerked  me  very  forcibly  in  his  direction.  But  a 
movement  by  the  tramp  had  quickly  brought  the 
dog  back  to  his  more  desired  victim. 

"  If  you  will  just  tie  up  that  dog,  sir,"  said  the 
agent,  "  and  come  this  way,  I  would  like  to  show 
you  the  Meltinagua  pear, — dissolves  in  the  mouth 
like  snow,  sir ;  trees  will  bear  next  year." 


J86  Rudder  Grange. 

+  "Oh,  come  look  at  the  Royal  Sparkling  Ruby 
grape  !  "  cried  Euphemia.  "  It  glows  in  the  sun  like 
a  gem." 

"Yes,"  said  the  agent,  "and  fills  the  air  with 
fragrance  during  the  whole  month  of  Septem- 
ber— 

"  I  tell  you,"  I  shouted,  "  I  can't  hold  this  dog 
another  minute !  The  chain  is  cutting  the  skin  off 
my  hands.  Run,  sir,  run  !  I'm  going  to  let  go." 

"Run!  run!"  cried  Pomona.  "Fly  for  your 
life  ! " 

The  agent  now  began  to  be  frightened,  and  shut 
up  his  book. 

"  If  you  only  could  see  the  plates,  sir,  I'm 
sure " 

"  Are  you  ready  ?  "  I  cried,  as  the  dog,  excited  by 
Pomona's  wild  shouts,  made  a  bolt  in  his  direction. 

"  Good-day,  if  I  must—  "  said  the  agent,  as  he 
hurried  to  the  gate.  But  there  he  stopped. 

"  There  is  nothing,  sir,"  he  said,  "  that  would  so 
improve  your  place  as  a  row  of  the  Spitzenberg 
Sweet-scented  Balsam  fir  along  this  fence.  I'll  sell 
you  three-year-old  trees " 

"  He's  loose !  "  I  shouted,  as  I  dropped  the  chain. 

In  a  second  the  agent  was  on  the  other  side  of 
the  gate.  Lord  Edward  made  a  dash  toward  him  ; 
but,  stopping  suddenly,  flew  back  to  the  tree  of  the 
tramp. 

"If  you  should  conclude,  sir,"  said  the  tree-agent, 


Rudder  Grange.  187 

looking  over  the  fence,  "  to  have  a  row  of  those  firs 
along  here " 

"  My  good  sir,"  said  I,  "  there  is  no  row  of  firs 
there  now,  and  the  fence  is  not  very  high.  My  dog, 
as  you  see,  is  very  much  excited  and  I  cannot 
answer  for  the  consequences  if  he  takes  it  into  his 
head  to  jump  over." 

The  tree-agent  turned  and  walked  slowly  away. 

"  Now,  look-a-here,M  cried  the  tramp  from  the 
tree,  in  the  voice  of  a  very  ill-used  person,  "  ain't  you 
goin'  to  fasten  up  that  dog,  and  let  me  git  down  ?  " 

I  walked  up  close  to  the  tree  and  addressed  him. 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  I  am  not.  When  a  man  comes  to 
my  place,  bullies  a  young  girl  who-was  about  to  re- 
lieve his  hunger,  and  then  boldly  determines  to  en- 
ter my  house  and  help  himself  to  my  property,  I 
don't  propose  to  fasten  up  any  dog  that  may  happen 
to  be  after  him.  If  I  had  another  dog,  I'd  let  him 
loose,  and  give  this  faithful  beast  a  rest.  You  can 
do  as  you  please.  You  can  come  down  and  have  it 
out  with  the  dog,  or  you  can  stay  up  there,  until  I 
have  had  my  dinner.  Then  I  will  go  down  to  the 
village  and  bring  up  the  constable,  and  deliver  you 
into  his  hands.  We  want  no  such  fellows  as  you 
about." 

With  that,  I  unhooked  the  chain  from  Lord 
Edward,  and  walked  off  to  put  up  the  horse.  The 
man  shouted  after  me,  but  I  paid  no  attention.  I 
did  not  feel  in  a  good  humor  with  him. 


1 88  Rudder  Grange. 

Euphemia  was  much  disturbed  by  the  various  oc- 
currences of  the  afternoon.  She  was  sorry  for  the 
man  in  the  tree ;  she  was  sorry  that  the  agent  for 
the  Royal  Ruby  grape  had  been  obliged  to  go  away ; 
and  I  had  a  good  deal  of  trouble  during  dinner  to 
make  her  see  things  in  the  proper  light.  But  I  suc- 
ceeded at  last. 

I  did  not  hurry  through  dinner,  and  when  we  had 
finished  I  went  to  my  work  at  the  barn.  Tramps 
are  not  generally  pressed  for  time,  and  Pomona  had 
been  told  to  give  our  captive  something  to  eat. 

I  was  just  locking  the  door  of  the  carriage-house, 
when  Pomona  came  running  to  me  to  tell  me  that 
the  tramp  wanted  to  see  me  about  something  very 
important — just  a  minute  he  said.  I  put  the  key  in 
my  pocket  and  walked  over  to  the  tree.  It  was 
now  almost  dark,  but  I  could  see  that  the  dog,  the 
tramp,  and  the  tree  still  kept  their  respective  places. 

"  Look-a-here,"  said  the  individual  in  the  crotch, 
"  you  don't  know  how  dreadful  oneasy  these  limbs 
gits  after  you've  been  settin'  up  here  as  long  as  I 
have.  And  I  don't  want  to  have  nuthin'  to  do  with 
no  constables.  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do  ;  if  you'll 
chain  up  that  dog,  and  let  me  go,  I'll  fix  things  so 
that  you'll  not  be  troubled  no  more  by  no  tramps." 

"  How  will  you  do  that  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  never  you  mind,"  said  he.  <;  I'll  give  you 
my  word  of  honor  I'll  do  it.  There's  a  reg'lar  un- 
derstandin'  among  us  fellers,  you  know." 


Rudder  Grange.  189 

I  considered  the  matter.  The  word  of  honor  of 
a  fellow  such  as  he  was  could  not  be  worth  much, 
but  the  merest  chance  of  getting  rid  of  tramps 
should  not  be  neglected.  I  went  in  to  talk  to  Eu- 
phemia  about  it,  although  I  knew  what  she  would 
say.  I  reasoned  with  myself  as  much  as  with  her. 

"  If  we  put  this  one  fellow  in  prison  for  a  few 
weeks,"  I  said,  "  the  benefit  is  not  very  great.  If 
we  are  freed  from  all  tramps,  for  the  season,  the 
benefit  is  very  great.  Shall  we  try  for  the  greatest 
good  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Euphemia ;  "  and  his  legs  must 
be  dreadfully  stiff." 

So  I  went  out,  and  after  a  struggle  of  some  min- 
utes, I  chained  Lord  Edward  to  a  post  at  a  little 
distance  from  the  apple-tree.  When  the  dog  was 
secured,  the  tramp  descended  nimbly  from  his  perch, 
notwithstanding  his  stiff  legs,  and  hurried  out  of  the 
gate.  He  stopped  to  make  no  remarks  over  the 
fence.  With  a  wild  howl  of  disappointed  ambition, 
Lord  Edward  threw  himself  after  him.  But  the 
chain  held. 

A  lane  of  moderate  length  led  from  our  house  to 
the  main  road,  and  the  next  day,  as  we  were  driving 
home,  I  noticed,  on  the  trunk  of  a  large  tree,  which 
stood  at  the  corner  of  the  lane  and  road,  a  curious 
mark.  I  drew  up  to  see  what  it  was,  but  we  could 
not  make  it  out.  It  was  a  very  rude  device,  cut 
deeply  into  the  tree,  and  somewhat  resembled  a 


190 


Rudder  Grange. 


square,  a  circle,  a  triangle,  and  a  cross,  with  some 
smaller  marks  beneath  it.  I  felt  sure  that  our 
tramp  had  cut  it,  and  that  it  had  some  significance, 
which  would  be  understood  by  the  members  of  his 
fraternity. 

And  it  must  have  had,  for  no  tramps  came  near  us 
all   that   summer.     We   were   visited   by   a   needy 

person  .now  and  then, 
but  by  no  member  of 
the  regular  army  of 
tramps. 

One  afternoon,  that 
autumn,  I  was  walking 
home,  and  at  the  cor- 
ner  of  the  lane  I  saw  a 
tramp  looking  up  at 
the  mark  on  the  tree, 
which  was  still  quite 
distinct. 

"  What     does     that 
mean  ?  "  I  said,  stepping  up  to  him. 

"  How  do  I  know  ?  "  said  the  man,  "  and  what  do 
you  want  to  know  fur  ?  " 

"  Just  out  of   curiosity,"  I   said ;  "  I   have  often 
noticed  it.     I  think  you  can  tell  me  what  it  means, 
and  if  you  will  do  so,  I'll  give  you  a  dollar." 
"  And  keep  mum  about  it  ?  "  said  the  man. 
"  Yes,"  I  replied,  taking  out  the  dollar. 
"  All  right !  "  said  the  tramp.     "  That  sign  means 


Rudder   Grange.  191 

that  the  man  that  lives  up  this  lane  is  a  mean, 
stingy  cuss,  with  a  wicked  dog,  and  it's  no  good  to 
go  there." 

I  handed  him  the  dollar  and  went  away,  perfectly 
satisfied  with  my  reputation. 

I  wish  here  to  make  some  mention  of  Euphemia's 
methods  of  work  in  her  chicken-yard.  She  kept  a 
book,  which  she  at  first  called  her  "  Fowl  Record," 
but  she  afterward  changed  the  name  to  "  Poultry 
Register."  I  never  could  thoroughly  understand 
this  book,  although  she  had  often  explained  every 
part  of  it  to  me.  She  had  pages  for  registering  the 
age,  description,  time  of  purchase  or  of  birth,  and 
subsequent  performances  of  every  fowl  in  her  yard. 
She  had  divisions  of  the  book  for  expenses,  profits, 
probable  losses  and  positive  losses  ;  she  noted  the 
number  of  eggs  put  under  each  setting  hen  ;  the 
number  of  eggs  cracked  per  day,  the  number  spoiled, 
and  finally,  the  number  hatched.  Each  chick,  on 
emerging  from  its  shell,  was  registered,  and  an  ac- 
count kept  of  its  subsequent  life  and  adventures. 
There  were  frequent  calculations  regarding  the  ad- 
vantages of  various  methods  of  treatment,  and  there 
were  statements  of  the  results  of  a  great  many  ex- 
periments— something  like  this :  "  Set  Toppy  and  her 
sister  Pinky,  April  2nd,  187-;  Toppy  with  twelve 
eggs»—  three  Brahma,  four  common,  and  five  Leg- 
horn ;  Pinky  witTi  thirteen  eggs  (as  she  weighs  four 
ounces  more  than  her  sister),  of  which  three  were 


192  Rudder   Grange. 

Leghorn,  five  common,  and  five  Brahma.  During 
the  twenty-second  and  twenty-third  of  April  (same 
year)  Toppy  hatched  out  four  Brahmas,  two  com- 
mons, and  three  Leghorns,  while  her  sister,  on  these 
days  and  the  morning  of  the  day  following,  hatched 
two  Leghorns,  six  commons,  and  only  one  Brahma. 
Now,  could  Toppy,  who  had  only  three  Brahma 
eggs,  and  hatched  out  four  of  that  breed,  have  ex- 
changed eggs  with  her  sister,  thus  making  it  possible 
for  her  to  hatch  out  six  common  chickens,  when  she 
only  had  five  eggs  of  that  kind  ?  Or,  did  the  eggs 
get  mixed  up  in  some  way  before  going  into 
the  possession  of  the  hens?  Look  into  probabili- 
ties." 

These  probabilities  must  have  puzzled  Euphemia 
a  great  deal,  but  they  never  disturbed  her  equa- 
nimity. She  was  always  as  tranquil  and  good-hu- 
mored about  her  poultry-yard  as  if  every  hen  laid  an 
egg  every  day,  and  a  hen-chick  was  hatched  out  of 
every  egg. 

For  it  may  be  remembered  that  the  principle  un- 
derlying Euphemia's  management  of  her  poultry 
was  what  might  be  designated  as  the  "  cumulative 
hatch."  That  is,  she  wished  every  chicken  hatched 
in  her  yard  to  become  the  mother  of  a  brood  of  her 
own  during  the  year,  and  every  one  of  this  brood  to 
raise  another  brood  the  next  year,  and  so  on,  in  a 
kind  of  geometrical  progression.  This  plan  called 
for  a  great  many  mother-fowls,  and  so  Euphemia 


Rudder  Grange.  193 

based  her  highest  hopes  on  a  great  annual  prepon- 
derance of  hens. 

We  ate  a  good  many  young  cocks  that  fall,  for 
Euphemia  would  not  allow  all  the  products  of  her 
yard  to  go  to  market,  and,  also,  a  great  many  eggs 
and  fowls  were  sold.  She  had  not  contented  herself 
with  her  original  stock  of  poultry,  but  had  bought 
fowls  during  the  winter,  and  she  truly  had  extraor- 
dinary good  luck,  or  else  her  extraordinary  system 
worked  extraordinarily  well. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 
Pomona's  Novel. 


T  was  in  the  latter  part  of  August  of 
that  year  that  it  became  necessary  for 
some  one  in  the  office  in  which  I  was 
engaged  to  go  to  St.  Louis  to  attend 
to  important  business.  Everything  seemed  to  point 
to  me  as  the  fit  person,  for  I  understood  the  particu- 
lar business  better  than  any  one  else*  I  felt  that  I 
ought  to  go,  but  I  did  not  altogether  like  to  do  it. 
I  went  home,  and  Euphemia  and  I  talked  over  the 
matter  far  into  the  regulation  sleeping-hours. 

There  were  very  good  reasons  why  we  should  go 
(for,  of  course,  I  would  not  think  of  taking  such  a 
journey  without  Euphemia).  In  the  first  place,  it 


Rudder  Grange.  195 

would  be  of  advantage  to  me,  in  my  business  con- 
nection, to  take  the  trip,  and  then  it  would  be  such 
a  charming  journey  for  us.  We  had  never  been 
west  of  the  Alleghanies,  and  nearly  all  the  country 
we  would  see  would  be  new  to  us.  We  woujd  come 
home  by  the  great  lakes  and  Niagara,  and  the  pros- 
pect was  delightful  to  both  of  us.  But  then  we 
would  have  to  leave  Rudder  Grange  for  at  least 
three  weeks,  and  how  could  we  do  that  ? 

This  was  indeed  a  difficult  question  to  answer. 
Who  could  take  care  of  our  garden,  our  poultry,  our 
horse  and  cow,  and  all  their  complicated  belongings  ? 
The  garden  was  in  admirable  condition.  Our  vege- 
tables were  coming  in  every  day  in  just  that  fresh 
and  satisfactory  condition — altogether  unknown  to 
people  who  buy  vegetables — for  which  I  had  labored 
so  faithfully,  and  about  which  I  had  so  many  cheer- 
ful anticipations.  As  to  Euphemia's  chicken-yard,— 
with  Euphemia  away, — the  subject  was  too  great  for 
us.  We  did  not  even  discuss  it.  But  we  would 
give  up  all  the  pleasures  of  our  home  for  the  chance 
of  this  most  desirable  excursion,  if  we  could  but 
think  of  some  one  who  would  come  and  take  care  of 
the  place  while  we  were  gone.  Rudder  Grange  could 
not  run  itself  for  three  weeks. 

We  thought  of  every  available  person.  Old  John 
would  not  do.  We  did  not  feel  that  we  could  trust 
him.  We  considered  several  of  our  friends;  but 
there  was,  in  both  our  minds,  a  certain  shrinking 


196  Rudder  Grange. 

from  the  idea  of  handing  over  the  place  to  any  of 
them  for  such  a  length  of  time.  For  my  part,  I  said, 
I  would  rather  leave  Pomona  in  charge  than  any  one 
else  ;  but,  then,  Pomona  was  young  and  a  girl.  Eu- 
phemia  agreed  with  me  that  she  would  rather  trust 
her  than  any  one  else,  but  she  also  agreed  in  regard 
to  the  disqualifications.  When  I  returned  from  the 
office  the  next  afternoon,  I  had  agreed  to  go  to  St. 
Louis.  By  this  time,  I  had  no  choice  in  the  matter, 
unless  I  wished  to  interfere  very  much  with  my  own 
interests.  We  were  to  start  in  two  days.  If  in  that 
time  we  could  get  any  one  to  stay  at  the  place,  very 
well ;  if  not,  Pomona  must  assume  the  charge.  We 
were  not  able  to  get  any  one,  and  Pomona  did  as- 
sume the  charge.  It  is  surprising  how  greatly  re- 
lieved we  felt  when  we  were  obliged  to  come  to  this 
conclusion.  The  arrangement  was  exactly  what  we 
wanted,  and  now  that  there  was  no  help  for  it,  our 
consciences  were  easy. 

We  felt  sure  that  there  would  be  no  danger  to 

Pomona.  Lord  Edward 
would  be  with  her,  and 
she  was  a  young  person 
who  was  extraordinarily 
well  able  to  take  care  of 
herself.  Old  John  would  be  within  call  in  case  she 
needed  him,  and  I  borrowed  a  bull-dog  to  be  kept 
in  the  house  at  night.  Pomona  herself  was  more 
than  satisfied  with  the  arrangements. 


Rudder  Grange.  197 

We  made  out,  the  night  before  we  left,  a  long  and 
minute  series  of  directions  for  her  guidance,  in 
household,  garden  and  farm  matters,  and  directed 
her  to  keep  a  careful  record  of  everything  note- 
worthy that  might  occur.  She  was  fully  supplied 
with  all  the  necessaries  of  life,  and  it  has  seldom 
happened  that  a  young  girl  has  been  left  in  such  a 
responsible  and  independent  position  as  that  in 
which  we  left  Pomona.  She  was  very  proud  of  it. 

Our  journey  was  ten  times  more  delightful  than 
we  had  expected  it  would  be,  and  successful  in  every 
way  ;  and  yet,  although  we  enjoyed  every  hour  of 
the  trip,  we  were  no  sooner  fairly  on  our  way  home 
than  we  became  so  wildly  anxious  to  get  there,  that 
we  reached  Rudder  Grange  on  Wednesday,  whereas 
we  had  written  that  we  would  be  home  on  Thurs- 
day. We  arrived  early  in  the  afternoon  and  walked 
up  from  the  station,  leaving  our  baggage  to  be  sent 
in  the  express  wagon.  As  we  approached  our  dear 
home,  we  wanted  to  run,  we  were  so  eager  to  see  it. 

There  it  was,  the  same  as  ever.  I  lifted  the  gate- 
latch  ;  the  gate  was  locked.  We  ran  to  the  carriage- 
gate  ;  that  was  locked  too.  Just  then  I  noticed  a 
placard  on  the  fence  ;  it  was  not  printed,  but  the 
lettering  was  large,  apparently  made  with  ink  and 
a  brush.  It  read  : 

TO   BE   SOLD 
For  TAXES. 


198  Rudder  Grange. 

We  stood  and  looked  at  each  other.  Euphemia 
turned  pale. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  said  I.  "Has  our 
landlord " 

I  could  say  no  more.  The  dreadful  thought  arose 
that  the  place  might  pass  away  from  us.  We  were 
not  yet  ready  to  buy  it.  But  I  did  not  put  the 
thought  in  words.  There  was  a  field  next  to  our 
lot,  and  I  got  over  the  fence  and  helped  Euphemia 
over.  Then  we  climbed  our  side  fence.  This  was 
more  difficult,  but  we  accomplished  it  without 
thinking  much  about  its  difficulties ;  our  hearts 
were  too  full  of  painful  apprehensions.  I  hurried 
to  the  front  door ;  it  was  locked.  All  the  lower 
windows  were  shut.  We  went  around  to  the 
kitchen.  What  surprised  us  more  than  anything  else 
was  the  absence  of  Lord  Edward.  Had  he  been  sold  ? 

Before  we  reached  the  back  part  of  the  house, 
Euphemia  said  she  felt  faint  and  must  sit  down.  I 
led  her  to  a  tree  near  by,  under  which  I  had  made  a 
rustic  chair.  The  chair  was  gone.  She  sat  on  the 
grass  and  I  ran  to  the  pump  for  some  water.  I 
looked  for  the  bright  tin  dipper  which  always  hung 
by  the  pump.  It  was  not  there.  But  I  had  a  trav- 
eling-cup in  my  pocket,  and  as  I  was  taking  it  out  I 
looked  around  me.  There  was  an  air  of  bareness 
over  everything.  I  did  not  know  what  it  all  meant, 
but  I  know  that  my  hand  trembled  as  I  took  hold 
of  the  pump-handle  and  began  to  pump. 


Rudder  Grange.  199 

At  the  first  sound  of  the  pump-handle  I  heard  a 
deep  bark  in  the  direction  of  the  barn,  and  then 
furiously  around  the  corner  came  Lord  Edward. 
Before  I  had  filled  the  cup  he  was  bounding  about 
me.  I  believe  the  glad  welcome  of  the  dog  did 
more  to  revive  Euphemia  than  the  water.  He  was 
delighted  to  see  us,  and  in  a  moment  Pomona  came 
running  from  the  barn.  Her  face  was  radiant,  too. 
We  felt  relieved.  Here  were  two  friends  who  looked 
as  if  they  were  neither  sold  nor  ruined. 

Pomona  quickly  saw  that  we  were  ill  at  ease,  and 
before  I  could  put  a  question  to  her,  she  divined 
the  cause.  Her  countenance  fell. 

"  You  know,"  said  she,  "  you  said  you  wasn't 
comin'  till  to-morrow.  If  you  only  had  come  then 
— I  was  goin'  to  have  everything  just  exactly  right 
— an'  now  you  had  to  climb  in " 

And  the  poor  girl  looked  as  if  she  might  cry, 
which  would  have  been  a  wonderful  thing  for  Po- 
mona to  do. 

"  Tell  me  one  thing,"  said  I.  "  What  about — 
those  taxes  ? " 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  she  cried.  "  Don't  think 
another  minute  about  that.  I'll  tell  you  all  about 
it  soon.  But  come  in  first,  an'  I'll  get  you  some 
lunch  in  a  minute." 

We  were  somewhat  relieved  by  Pomona's  state- 
ment that  it  was  "  all  right  "  in  regard  to  the  tax- 
poster,  but  we  were  very  anxious  to  know  all  about 


2OO  Rudder  Grange. 

the  matter.  Pomona,  however,  gave  us  little  chance 
to  ask  her  any  questions.  As  soon  as  she  had  made 
ready  our  luncheon,  she  asked  us,  as  a  particular 
favor,  to  give  her  three-quarters  of  an  hour  to  her- 
self, and  then,  said  she,  "  I'll  have  everything  look- 
ing just  as  if  it  was  to-morrow." 

We  respected  her  feelings,  for,  of  course,  it  was  a 
great  disappointment  to  her  to  be  taken  thus  un- 
awares, and  we  remained  in  the  dining-room  until 
she  appeared,  and  announced  that  she  was  ready  for 
us  to  go  about.  We  availed  ourselves  quickly  of 
the  privilege,  and  Euphemia  hurried  to  the  chicken- 
yard,  while  I  bent  my  steps  toward  the  garden  and 
barn.  As  I  went  out  I  noticed  that  the  rustic  chair 
was  in  its  place,  and  passing  the  pump  I  looked  for 
the  dipper.  It  was  there.  I  asked  Pomona  about 
the  chair,  but  she  did  not  answer  as  quickly  as  was 
tier  habit. 

"Would  you  rather/'  said  she,  "hear  it  all 
together,  when  you  come  in,  or  have  it  in  little  bits, 
head  and  tail,  all  of  a  jumble?" 

I  called  to  Euphemia  and  asked  her  what  she 
thought,  and  she  was  so  anxious  to  get  to  her 
chickens  that  she  said  she  would  much  rather  wait 
and  hear  it  altogether.  We  found  everything  in 
perfect  order, — the  garden  was  even  free  from  weeds, 
a  thing  I  had  not  expected.  If  it  had  not  been  for 
that  cloud  on  the  front  fence,  I  should  have  been 
happy  enough.  Pomona  had  said  it  was  all  right, 


Rudder  Grange.  201 

but  she  could  not  have  paid  the  taxes — however,  I 
would  wait ;  and  I  went  to  the  barn. 

When  Euphemia  came  in  from  the  poultry-yard, 
she  called  me  and  said  she  was  in  a  hurry  to  hear 
Pomona's  account  of  things.  So  I  went  to  the 
house,  and  we  sat  on  the  side  porch,  where  it  was 
shady,  while  Pomona,  producing  some  sheets  of 
foolscap  paper,  took  her  seat  on  the  upper  step. 

"  I  wrote  down  the  things  of  any  account  what 
happened,"  said  she,  "  as  you  told  me  to,  an'  while 
I  was  about  it,  I  thought  I'd  make  it  like  a  novel. 
It  would  be  jus'  as  true,  and  p'r' haps  more  amusin'. 
I  suppose  you  dont  mind?" 

No,  we  didn't  mind.     So  she  went  on. 

"  I  haven't  got  no  name  for  my  novel.  I  intended 
to  think  one  out  to-night.  I  wrote  this  all  of  nights. 
An'  I  won't  read  the  first  chapters,  for  they  tell  about 
my  birth  and  my  parent-age  an'  my  early  adventures. 
I'll  just  come  down  to  what  happened  to  me  while 
you  was  away,  because  you'll  be  more  anxious  to  hear 
about  that.  All  that's  written  here  is  true,  jus'  the 
same  as  if  I  told  it  to  you,  but  I've  put  it  into  novel 
language  because  it  seems  to  come  easier  to  me." 

And  then,  in  a  voice  somewhat  different  from  her 
ordinary  tones,  as  if  the  "  novel  language  "  demanded 
it,  she  began  to  read  : 

"  Chapter  Five.  The  Lonely  house  and  the 
Faithful  friend.  Thus  was  I  left  alone.  None  but 
two  dogs  to  keep  me  com  pa  ny.  I  milk  ed  the  low- 
9* 


2O2 


Rudder  Grange. 


ing  kine  and  water  ed  and  fed  the  steed,  and  then, 
after  my  fru  gal  repast,  I  clos  ed  the  man  si  on,  shut- 
ting out  all  re  collections  of  the  past  and  also  fore- 
sights into  the  future.  That  night  was  a  me  mor- 
able  one.  I  slept  soundly  until  the  break  of  morn, 

but  had  the  events  trans- 
pired which  afterward 
occur  red,  what  would 
have  hap  pen  ed  to  me 
no  living  .tongue  can  tell. 
Early  the  next  day  noth- 
ing hap  pened.  Soon 
after  breakfast,  the  ven- 
er  able  John  came  to 
bor  row  some  ker  o  sene 
oil  and  a  half  a  pound 
of  sugar,  but  his  attempt 
was  foil  ed.  I  knew  too 
well  the  in  sid  ious  foe. 
In  the  very  out  set  of 
his  vil  li  an  y  I  sent  him 
home  with  a  empty  can.  For  two  long  days  I 
wander  ed  amid  the  ver  dant  path  ways  of  the  gar- 
den and  to  the  barn,  whenever  and  anon  my  du  ty 
cal  led  me,  nor  did  I  ere  neg  lect  the  fowlery.  No 
cloud  o'er  spread  this  happy  pe  ri  od  of  my  life. 
But  the  cloud  was  ri  sing  in  the  horizon  although  I 
saw  it  not. 

"  It  was  about  twenty-five  minutes  after  eleven, 


Rudder  Grange.  203 

on  the  morning  of  a  Thursday,  that  I  sat  pondering 
in  my  mind  the  ques  ti  on  what  to  do  with  the  butter 
and  the  veg  et  ables.  Here  was  butter,  and  here 
was  green  corn  and  lima  beans  and  trophy  tomats, 
far  more  than  I  ere  could  use.  And  here  was  a 
horse,  idly  cropping  the  fol  i  age  in  the  field,  for  as 
my  employer  had  advis  ed  and  order  ed  I  had  put 
the  steed  to  grass.  And  here  was  a  wagon,  none 
too  new,  which  had  it  the  top  taken  off,  or  even  the 
curtains  roll  ed  up,  would  do  for  a  li  cen  sed  vender. 
With  the  truck  and  butter,  and  mayhap  some  milk, 
I  could  load  that  wagon " 

"  O,  Pomona,"  interrupted  Euphemia.  "  You 
don't  mean  to  say  that  you  were  thinking  of  doing 
anything  like  that  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  was  just  beginning  to  think  of  it,"  said 
Pomona,  "  but  of  course  I  couldn't  have  gone  away 
and  left  the  house.  An*  you'll  see  I  didn't  do  it." 
And  then  she  continued  her  novel.  "  But  while  my 
thoughts  were  thus  employ  ed,  I  heard  Lord  Edward 
burst  into  bark  ter " 

At  this  Euphemia  and  I  could  not  help  bursting 
into  laughter.  Pomona  did  not  seem  at  all  confused, 
but  went  on  with  her  reading. 

"  I  hurried  to  the  door,  and,  look  ing  out,  I  saw 
a  wagon  at  the  gate.  Re  pair  ing  there,  I  saw  a  man. 
Said  he,  '  Wilt  open  this  gate  ?'  I  had  fasten  ed  up 
the  gates  and  remov  ed  every  steal  able  ar  tide  from 
the  yard." 


2O4  Rudder  Grange. 

Euphemia  and  I  looked  at  each  other.  This 
explained  the  absence  of  the  rustic  seat  and  the 
dipper. 

"  Thus,  with  my  mind  at  ease,  I  could  let  my 
faith  ful  fri  end,  the  dog  (for  he  it  was),  roam  with 
me  through  the  grounds,  while  the  fi  erce  bull-dog 
guard  ed  the  man  si  on  within.  Then  said  I,  quite 
bold,  unto  him,  *  No.  I  let  in  no  man  here.  My 
em  ploy  er  and  employ  er  ess  are  now  from  home. 
What  do  you  want  ?  '  Then  says  he,  as  bold  as 
brass,  4  I've  come  to  put  the  light  en  ing  rods  upon 
the  house.  Open  the  gate/  '  What  rods  ? '  says  I. 
*  The  rods  as  was  ordered/  says  he,  '  open  the  gate.' 
I  stood  and  gaz  ed  at  him.  Full  weir  I  saw  through 
his  pinch  beck  mask.  I  knew  his  tricks.  In  the 
ab  sence  of  my  em  ployer,  he  would  put  up  rods,  and 
ever  so  many  more  than  was  wanted,  and  likely,  too, 
some  miser  able  trash  that  would  attrack  the  light- 
en ing,  instead  of  keep  ing  it  off.  Then,  as  it  would 
spoil  the  house  to  take  them  down,  they  would  be 
kept,  and  pay  demand  ed.  '  No,  sir,'  says  I.  '  No 
light  en  ing  rods  upon  this  house  whilst  I  stand  here/ 
and  with  that  I  walk  ed  away,  and  let  Lord  Edward 
loose.  The  man  he  storm  ed  with  pas  si  on.  His 
eyes  flash  ed  fire.  He  would  e'en  have  seal  ed  the 
gate,  but  when  he  saw  the  dog  he  did  forbear.  As 
it  was  then  near  noon,  I  strode  away  to  feed  the 
fowls ;  but  when  I  did  return,  I  saw  a  sight  which 
froze  the  blood  with  in  my  veins " 


Rudder  Grange. 


205 


"  The  dog  didn't  kill  him  ?  "  cried  Euphemia. 

"  Oh  no,  ma'am  !  "  said  Pomona.  "  You'll  see 
that  that  wasn't  it.  At  one  corn  er  of  the  lot,  in 
front,  a  base  boy,  who  had  accompa  ni  ed  this  man, 
was  bang  ing  on  the  fence  with  a  long  stick,  and 
thus  attrack  ing  to  hisself  the  rage  of  Lord  Edward, 
while  the  vile  intrig  er  of  a  lighten  ing  rod  der  had 
brought  a  lad  der  to  the  other  side  of  the  house,  up 
which  he  had  now  as  cend  ed,  and  was  on  the  roof. 
What  horrors  fill- 
ed my  soul !  How 
my  form  trem- 
bl  ed  !  This,"  con- 
tinued Pomona, 
"  is  the  end  of  the 
novel,"  and  she 
laid  her  foolscap 
pages  on  the  top 
step  of  the  porch. 

Euphemia  and  I  exclaimed,  with  one  voice,  against 
this.  We  had  just  reached  the  most  exciting  part, 
and,  I  added,  we  had  heard  nothing  yet  about  that 
affair  of  the  taxes. 

"  You  see,  sir,"  cried  Pomona,  "  it  took  me  so  long 
to  write  out  the  chapters  about  my  birth,  my  par- 
entage, an'  my  early  adventures,  that  I  hadn't  time 
to  finish  up  the  rest.  But  I  can  tell  you  what  hap- 
pened after  that  jus'  as  well  as  if  I  had  writ  it  out." 
And  so  she  went  on,  much  more  glibly  than  before, 


t  1 


206  Rudder  Grange. 

with  the  account  of  the  doings  of  the  lightning-rod 
man. 

"  There  was  that  wretch  on  top  of  the  house, 
a-fixin'  his  old  rods  an'  hammerin'  away  for  dear  life. 
He'd  brought  his  ladder  over  the  side  fence,  where 
the  dog,  a-barkin'  an'  plungin'  at  the  boy  outside, 
couldn't  see  him.  I  stood  dumb  for  a  minute,  an* 
then  I  know'd  I  had  him.  I  rushed  into  the  house, 
got  a  piece  of  well-rope,  tied  it  to  the  bull-dog's 
collar,  an'  dragged  him  out  and  fastened  him  to  the 
bottom  rung  of  the  ladder.  Then  I  walks  over  to 
the  front  fence  with  Lord  Edward's  chain,  for  I 
knew  that  if  he  got  at  that  bull-dog  there'd  be  times, 
for  they'd  never  been  allowed  to  see  each  other  yet. 
So  says  I  to  the  boy,  '  I'm  goin'  to  tie  up  the  dog, 
so  you  needn't  be  afraid  of  his  jumpin'  over  the 
fence,' — which  he  couldn't  do,  or  the  boy  would 
have  been  a  corpse  for  twenty  minutes,  or  may  be 
half  an  hour.  The  boy  kinder  laughed,  an'  said  I 
needn't  mind,  which  I  didn't.  Then  I  went  to  the 
gate,  an'  I  clicked  to  the  horse  which  was  standin' 
there,  an'  off  he  starts,  as  good  as  gold,  an'  trots 
down  the  road.  The  boy,  he  said  somethin'  or 
other  pretty  bad,  an'  away  he  goes  after  him ;  but 
the  horse  was  a-trottin'  real  fast,  an'  had  a  good 
start." 

"  How  on  earth  could  you  ever  think  of  doing 
such  things?"  said  Euphemia.  "That  horse  might 
have  upset  the  wagon  and  broken  all  the  lightning- 


THAT   DOG   OFF   OF   THERE  !  ' 


Rudder  Grange.  209 

rods,  besides  running  over  I  don't  know  how  many 
people." 

"  But  you  see,  ma'am,  that  wasn't  my  lookout," 
said  Pomona.  "  I  was  a-defendin'  the  house,  an' 
the  enemy  must  expect  to  have  things  happen  to 
him.  So  then  I  hears  an  awful  row  on  the  roof,  an' 
there  was  the  man  just  coming  down  the  ladder. 
He'd  heard  the  horse  go  off,  an'  when  he  got  about 
half-way  down  an'  caught  a  sight  of  the  bull-dog, 
he  was  madder  than  ever  you  seed  a  lightnin'-rodder 
in  all  your  born  days.  *  Take  that  dog  off  of  there  ! ' 
he  yelled  at  me.  '  No,  I  won't/  says  I.  '  I  never 
see  a  girl  like  you  since  I  was  born,'  he  screams  at 
me.  '  I  guess  it  would  'a'  been  better  fur  you  if  you 
had,'  says  I ;  an'  then  he  was  so  mad  he  couldn't 
stand  it  any  longer,  and  he  comes  down  as  low  as 
he  could,  and  when  he  saw  just  how  long  the  rope 
was, — which  was  pretty  short, — he  made  a  jump,  an* 
landed  clear  of  the  dog.  Then  he  went  on  dreadful 
because  he  couldn't  get  at  his  ladder  to  take  it  away; 
an'  I  wouldn't  untie  the  dog,  because  if  I  had  he'd 
'a'  torn  the  tendons  out  of  that  fellow's  legs  in  no 
time.  I  never  see  a  dog  in  such  a  boiling  passion, 
an'  yet  never  making  no  sound  at  all  but  blood- 
curdlin'  grunts.  An'  I  don't  see  how  the  rodder 
would  'a'  got  his  ladder  at  all  if  the  dog  hadn't  made 
an  awful  jump  at  him,  an'  jerked  the  ladder  down. 
It  just  missed  your  geranium-bed,  an'  the  rodder,  he 
ran  to  the  other  end  of  it,  and  began  pullin'  it  away, 


2io  Rudder   Grange. 

dog  an'  all.  *  Look-a-here,'  says  I,  'we  can  fix  him 
now ; '  an'  so  he  cooled  down  enough  to  help  me, 
an'  I  unlocked  the  front  door,  an'  we  pushed  the 
bottom  end  of  the  ladder  in,  dog  and  all ;  an'  then 
I  shut  the  door  as  tight  as  it  would  go,  an'  untied 
the  end  of  the  rope,  an'  the  rodder  pulled  the  lad- 
der out  while  I  held  the  door  to  keep  the  dog  from 
follerin',  which  he  came  pretty  near  doin',  anyway. 
But  I  locked  him  in,  an'  then  the  man  began  stormin' 
again  about  his  wagon ;  but  when  he  looked  out  an' 
see  the  boy  comin'  back  with  it, — for  somebody 
must  'a'  stopped  the  horse, — he  stopped  stormin' 
and  went  to  put  up  his  ladder  ag'in.  '  No,  you 
don't,'  says  I ;  '  I'll  let  the  big  dog  loose  next  time, 
and  if  I  put  him  at  the  foot  of  your  ladder,  you'll 
never  come  down.'  *  But  I  want  to  go  and  take 
down  what  I  put  up,'  he  says;  'I  aint  a-goin'  on 
with  this  job.'  'No,'  says  I,  'you  aint;  and  you 
can't  go  up  there  to  wrench  off  them  rods  and  make 
rain-holes  in  the  roof,  neither.'  He  couldn't  get  no 
madder  than  he  was  then,  an'  fur  a  minute  or  two 
he  couldn't  speak,  an'  then  he  says,  '  I'll  have  sat- 
isfaction for  this.'  An*  says  I,  'How?'  An'  says 
he,  '  You'll  see  what  it  is  to  interfere  with  a  ordered 
job.'  An'  says  I,  '  There  wasn't  no  order  about  it ; 
an'  says  he,  '  I'll  show  you  better  than  that  ; '  an'  he 
goes  to  his  wagon  an'  gits  a  book.  '  There/  says 
he,  'read  that.'  '  What  of  it  ? '  says  I ;  '  there's  no- 
body of  the  name  of  Ball  lives  here.'  That  took 


Rudder   Grange.  2 1 1 

the  man  kinder  aback,  an'  he  said  he  was  told  it  was 
the  only  house  on  the  lane,  which  I  said  was  right, 
only  it  was  the  next  lane  he  oughter  'a'  gone  to. 
He  said  no  more  after  that,  but  just  put  his  ladder 
in  his  wagon,  an'  went  off.  But  I  was  not  altogether 
rid  of  him.  He  left  a  trail  of  his  baleful  presence 
behind  him. 

"  That  horrid  bull-dog  wouldn't  let  me  come  into 
the  house !  No  matter  what  door  I  tried,  there  he 
was,  just  foamin'  mad.  I  let  him  stay  till  nearly 
night,  an'  then  went  and  spoke  kind  to  him ;  but  it 
was  no  good.  He'd  got  an  awful  spite  ag'in  me.  I 
found  something  to  eat  down  cellar,  an'  I  made  a 
fire  outside  an'  roasted  some  corn  and  potatoes. 
That  night  I  slep'  in  the  barn.  I  wasn't  afraid  to. 
be  away  from  the  house,  for  I  knew  it  was  safe 
enough,  with  that  dog  in  it  an'  Lord  Edward  out- 
side. For  three  days,  Sunday  an'  all,  I  was  kep' 
out  of  this  here  house.  I  got  along  pretty  well 
with  the  sleepin*  and  the  eatin',  but  the  drinkin'  was 
the  worst.  I  couldn't  get  no  coffee  or  tea ;  but 
there  was  plenty  of  milk." 

"Why  didn't  ycu  get  some  man  to  come  and  at- 
tend to  the  dog?"  I  asked.  "It  was  dreadful  to 
live  that  way." 

"  Well,  I  didn't  know  no  man  that  could  do  it," 
said  Pomona.  "The  dog  would  'a'  been  too  much 
for  old  John,  and  besides,  he  was  mad  about  the 
kerosene.  Sunday  afternoon,  Captain  Atkinson  and 


212  Rudder  Grange. 

Mrs.  Atkinson  and  their  little  girl  in  a  push-wagon 
come  here,  an'  I  told  'em  you  was  gone  away ;  but 
they  says  they  would  stop  a  minute,  an'  could  I 
give  them  a  drink ;  an'  I  had  nothin'  to  give  it  to 
them  in  but  an  old  chicken-bowl  that  I  had  washed 
out,  for  even  the  dipper  was  in  the  house,  an'  I 
told  'em  everything  was  locked  up,  which  was  true 
enough,  though  they  must  'a'  thought  you  was  a 
queer  kind  of  people;  but  I  wasn't  a-goin'  to  say 
nothin'  about  the  dog,  fur,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  was 
ashamed  to  do  it.  So  as  soon  as  they'd  gone,  I 
went  down  into  the  cellar, — and  it's  lucky  that  I 
had  the  key  for  the  outside  cellar  door, — an'  I  got 
a  piece  of  fat  corned  beef  an'  the  meat-axe.  I  un- 
locked the  kitchen  door  an'  went  in,  with  the  axe  in 
one  hand  an'  the  meat  in  the  other.  The  dog  might 
take  his  choice.  I  know'd  he  must  be  pretty  nigh 
famished,  for  there  was  nothin'  that  he  could  get  at 
to  eat.  As  soon  as  I  went  in,  he  came  runnin'  to 
me;  but  I  could  see  he  was  shaky  on  his  legs.  He 
looked  a  sort  of  wicked  at  me,  an'  then  he  grabbed 
the  meat.  He  was  all  right  then." 

"  Oh,  my  !  "  said  Euphemia,  "  I'm  so  glad  to  hear 
that.  I  was  afraid  you  never  got  in.  But  we  saw 
the  dog — is  he  as  savage  yet  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  said  Pomona  ;  "  nothin'  like  it." 
"Look  here,  Pomona,"  said   I,  "  I  want  to  know 
about  those  taxes.     When  do  they  come  into  your 
story?" 


Rudder  Grange.  213 

"  Pretty  soon,  sir,"  said  she,  and  she  went  on : 

"After  that,  I  know'd  it  wouldn't  do  to  have  them 
two  dogs  so  that  they'd  have  to  be  tied  up  if  they 
see  each  other.  Just  as  like  as  not  I'd  want  them 
both  at  once,  an'  then  they'd  go  to  fightin',  an'  leave 
me  to  settle  with  some  blood-thirsty  lightnin'-rod- 
der.  But  as  I  know'd  if  they  once  had  a  fair  fight 
and  found  out  which  was  master  they'd  be  good 
friends  afterwards,  I  thought  the  best  thing  to  do 
would  be  to  let  'em  fight  it  out,  when  there  was 
nothin'  else  for  'em  to  do.  So  I  fixed  up  things  for 
the  combat." 

"  Why,  Pomona  ! "  cried  Euphemia,  "  I  didn't 
think  you  were  capable  of  such  a  cruel  thing." 

"  It  looks  that  way,  ma'am,  but  really  it  aint,"  re- 
plied the  girl.  "  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  it  would  be  a 
mercy  to  both  of  'em  to  have  the  thing  settled.  So 
I  cleared  away  a  place  in  front  of  the  wood-shed  and 
unchained  Lord  Edward,  an'  then  I  opened  the 
kitchen  door  and  called  the  bull.  Out  he  came,  with 
his  teeth  a-showin',  an'  his  blood-shot  eyes,  an'  his 
crooked  front  legs.  Like  lightnin'  from  the  moun- 
t'in  blast,  he  made  one  bounce  for  the  big  dog,  an' 
oh  !  what  a  fight  there  was !  They  rolled,  they 
gnashed,  they  knocked  over  the  wood-horse  an*  sent 
chips  a-flyin'  all  ways  at  wonst.  I  thought  Lord 
Edward  would  whip  in  a  minute  or  two  ;  but  he 
didn't,  for  the  bull  stuck  to  him  like  a  burr,  an'  they 
was  havin'  it,  ground  and  lofty,  when  I  hears  some 


214  Rudder  Grange. 

one  run  up  behind  me,  an'  turnin*  quick,  there  was 
the  'Piscopalian  minister,  *  My  !  my  !  my  ! '  he  hol- 
lers ;  *  what  an  awful  spectacle  !  Aint  there  no  way 
of  stoppin'  it  ?  '  '  No,  sir,'  says  I,  an'  I  told  him 
how  I  did'nt  want  to  stop  it,  and  the  reason  why. 
Then  says  he, '  Where's  your  master  ? '  an'  I  told  how 
you  was  away.  '  Isn't  there  any  man  at  all  about  ? ' 
says  he.  '  No,'  says  I.  *  Then,'  says  he,  '  if  there's 
nobody  else  to  stop  it,  I  must  do  it  myself.'  An'  he 
took  off  his  coat.  '  No,'  says  I.  l  you  keep  back, 
sir.  If  there's  anybody  to  plunge  into  that  erena, 
the  blood  be  mine  ; '  an'  I  put  my  hand,  without 
thinkin',  ag'in  his  black  shirt  bosom,  to  hold  him 
back  ;  but  he  didn't  notice,  bein'  so  excited.  -Now,' 
says  I,  '  jist  wait  one  minute,  an'  you'll  see  that 
bull's  tail  go  between  his  legs.  He's  weakeninV 
An',  sure  enough,  Lord  Edward  got  a  good  grab  at 
him  an'  was  a-shakin'  the  very  life  out  of  him,  when 
I  run  up  and  took  Lord  Edward  by  the  collar. 
'  Drop  it ! '  says  I,  an'  he  dropped  it,  for  he  know'd 
he'd  whipped,  an'  he  was  pretty  tired  hisself.  Then 
the  bull-dog,  he  trotted  off  with  his  tail  a-hangin' 
down.  '  Now,  then,'  says  I,  '  them  dogs  will  be 
bosom  friends  forever  after  this.'  'Ah,  me  ! '  says 
he,  '  I'm  sorry  indeed  that  your  employer,  for  who 
I've  always  had  a  great  respect,  should  allow  you  to 
get  into  such  habits.'  That  made  me  feel  real  bad, 
an'  I  told  him,  mighty  quick,  that  you  was  the  last 
man  in  the  world  to  let  me  do  anything  like  that,  an' 


Rudder  Grange.  215 

that  if  you'd  'a'  been  here,  you'd  V  separated  them 
dogs,  if  they'd  'a'  chawed  your  arms  off;  that  you 
was  very  particular  about  such  things;  an'  that  it 
would  be  a  pity  if  he  was  to  think  you  was  a  dog-fight- 
in'  gentleman,  when  I'd  often  heard  you  say  that, 
now  you  was  fixed  an'  settled,  the  one  thing  you 
would  like  most  would  be  to  be  made  a  vestryman." 

I  sat  up  straight  in  my  chair. 

"  Pomona  !  "  I  exclaimed,  "  you  didn't  tell  him 
that?" 

"That's  what  I  said,  sir,  for  I  wanted  him  to 
know  what  you  really  was  ;  and  he  says,  '  Well,  well, 
I  never  knew  that.  It  might  be  a  very  good  thing. 
I'll  speak  to  some  of  the  members  about  it.  There's 
two  vacancies  now  in  our  vestry. ' ' 

I  was  crushed  ;  but  Euphemia  tried  to  put  the 
matter  into  the  brightest  light. 

"  Perhaps  it  may  all  turn  out  for  the  best,"  she 
said,  "  and  you  may  be  elected,  and  that  would  be 
splendid.  But  it  would  be  an  awfully  funny  thing 
for  a  dog-fight  to  make  you  a  vestryman." 

I  could  not  talk  on  this  subject.  "  Go  on,  Po- 
mona," I  said,  trying  to  feel  resigned  to  my  shame, 
uand  tell  us  about  that  poster  on  the  fence." 

"  I'll  be  to  that  almost  right  away,"  she  said.  "  It 
was  two  or  three  days  after  the  dog-fight  that  I  was 
down  at  the  barn,  an'  happenin'  to  look  over  to  old 
John's,  I  saw  that  tree-man  there.  He  was  a  show- 
in'  his  book  to  John,  an'  him  an'  his  wife  an'  all  the 


216  Rudder  Grange. 

young  ones  was  a-standin'  there,  drinkin'  down  them 
big  peaches  and  pears  as  if  they  was  all  real.  I 
know'd  he'd  come  here  ag'in,  for  them  fellers  never 
gives  you  up  ;  and  I  didn't  know  how  to  keep  him 
away,  for  I  didn't  want  to  let  the  dogs  loose  on  a  man 
what,  after  all,  didn't  want  to  do  no  more  harm  than 
to  talk  the  life  out  of  you.  I  just  happened  to  notice, 
as  I  came  to  the  house,  how  kind  of  deserlate  every- 
thing looked,  an'  I  thought  perhaps  I  might  make 
it  look  worse,  an'  he  wouldn't  care  to  deal  here.  So 
I  thought  of  puttin'  up  a  poster  like  that,  for  nobody 
whose  place  was  a-goin'  to  be  sold  for  taxes  would  be 
likely  to  want  trees,  an*  I  run  in  the  house,  and  wrote 
it  quick  and  put  it  up.  An'  sure  enough,  the  man  he 
come  along  soon,  an'  when  he  looked  at  that  paper, 
an'  tried  the  gate,  an'  looked  over  the  fence  an'  saw 
the  house  all  shut  up  an'  not  a  livin'  soul  about, — 
for  I  had  both  the  dogs  in  the  house  with  me, — he 
shook  his  head  an'  walked  off,  as  much  as  to  say,  '  If 
that  man  had  fixed  his  place  up  proper  with  my  trees, 
he  wouldn't  'a*  come  to  this  !'  An'  then,  as  I  found 
the  poster  worked  so  good,  I  thought  it  might  keep 
other  people  from  comin'  a-botherin'  around,  an'  so 
I  left  it  up ;  but  I  was  a-goin'  to  be  sure  an'  take  it 
down  before  you  came." 

As  it  was  now  pretty  late  in  the  afternoon,  I  pro- 
posed that  Pomona  should  postpone  the  rest  of  her 
narrative  until  evening.  She  said  that  there  was 
nothing  else  to  tell  that  was  very  particular ;  and  I 


Rudder  Grange. 


217 


did  not  feel  as  if  I  could  stand  anything  more  just 

now,  even  if  it  was  very  particular. 

When  we  were  alone,  I  said  to  Euphemia: 

"If  we  ever  have  to  go  away  from   this   place 

again ' 

"  But  we  wont  go  away,"  she  interrupted,  looking 

up  to  me  with  as  bright  a  face  as  she  ever  had,  "  at 

least  not  for  a  long,  long,  long  time  to  come.     And 

I'm  so  glad  you're  to  be  a  vestryman." 


10 


CHAPTER   XIV. 
Pomona  takes  a  Bridal  Trip. 

UR  life  at  Rudder  Grange  seemed 
to  be  in  no  way  materially  changed 
by  my  becoming  a  vestryman. 
The  cow  gave  about  as  much  milk 
as  before,  and  the  hens  laid  the 
usual  number  of  eggs.  Euphemia 
went  to  church  with  a  little  more  of  an  air,  per- 
haps, but  as  the  wardens  were  never  absent,  and  I 
was  never,  therefore,  called  upon  to  assist  in  pass- 
ing around  the  plate,  her  sense  of  my  position  was 
not  inordinately  manifested. 

For  a  year  or  two,  indeed,  there  was  no  radical 
change  in  anything  about  Rudder  Grange,  except  in 
Pomona.  In  her  there  was  a  change.  She  grew  up. 


Rudder  Grange.  219 

She  performed  this  feat  quite  suddenly.  She  was 
a  young  girl  when  she  first  came  to  us,  and  we  had 
never  considered  her  as  anything  else,  when  one 
evening  she  had  a  young  man  to  see  her.  Then  we 
knew  she  had  grown  up. 

We  made  no  objections  to  her  visitors, — she  had 
several,  from  time  to  time, — "  for,"  said  Euphemia, 
"  suppose  my  parents  had  objected  to  your  visits." 
I  could  not  consider  the  mere  possibility  of  any- 
thing like  this,  and  we  gave  Pomona  all  the  ordinary 
opportunities  for  entertaining  her  visitors.  To  tell 
the  truth,  I  think  we  gave  her  more  than  the  ordi- 
nary opportunities.  I  know  that  Euphemia  would 
wait  on  herself  to  almost  any  extent,  rather  than 
call  upon  Pomona,  when  the  latter  was  entertaining 
an  evening  visitor  in  the  kitchen  or  on  the  back 
porch. 

"  Suppose  my  mother,"  she  once  remarked,  in  an- 
swer to  a  mild  remonstrance  from  me  in  regard  to  a 
circumstance  of  this  nature, — u  suppose  my  mother 
had  rushed  into  our  presence  when  we  were  plighting 
our  vows,  and  had  told  me  to  go  down  into  the 
cellar  and  crack  ice  !  " 

It  was  of  no  use  to  talk  to  Euphemia  on  such  sub- 
jects ;  she  always  had  an  answer  ready. 

"  You  don't  want  Pomona  to  go  off  and  be  married, 
do  you  ?  "  I  asked,  one  day  as  she  was  putting  up 
some  new  muslin  curtains  in  the  kitchen.  "  You 
seem  to  be  helping  her  to  do  this  all  you  can,  and 


22O  Rudder  Grange. 

yet  I  don't  know  where  on  earth  you  will  get  an- 
other servant  who  will  suit  you  so  well." 

"  I  don't  know,  either,"  replied  Euphemia,  with  a 
tack  in  her  mouth,  "  and  I'm  sure  I  don't  want  her 
to  go.  But  neither  do  I  want  winter  to  come,  or  to 
be  obliged  to  wear  spectacles  ;  but  I  suppose  both 
of  these  things  will  happen,  whether  I  like  it  or  not." 

For  some  time  after  this  Pomona  had  very  little 
company,  and  we  began  to  think  that  there  was  no 
danger  of  any  present  matrimonial  engagement  on 
her  part, — a  thought  which  was  very  gratifying  to 
us,  although  we  did  not  wish  in  any  way  to  inter- 
fere with  her  prospects, — when,  one  afternoon, 
she  quietly  went  up  into  the  village  and  was  mar- 
ried. 

Her  husband  was  a  tall  young  fellow,  a  son  of  a 
farmer  in  the  country,  who  had  occasionally  been  to 
see  her,  but  whom  she  must  have  frequently  met  on 
her  "  afternoons  out." 

When  Pomona  came  home  and  told  us  this  news 
we  were  certainly  well  surprised. 

"  What  on  earth  are  we  to  do  for  a  girl  ?  "  cried 
Euphemia. 

"  You're  to  have  me  till  you  can  get  another  one," 
said  Pomona  quietly.  "  I  hope  you  don't  think  I'd 
go  'way,  an'  leave  you  without  anybody." 

"  But  a  wife  ought  to  go  to  her  husband,"  said 
Euphemia,  "especially  so  recent  a  bride.  Why 
didn't  you  let  me  know  all  about  it  ?  I  would  have 


Rudder  Grange.  221 

helped  to  fit  you  out.     We  would  have  given  you 
the  nicest  kind  of  a  little  wedding." 

"  I  know  that,"  said  Pomona ;  "  you're  jus*  good 
enough.  But  I  didn't  want  to  put  you  to  all  that 
trouble — right  in  preserving  time  too.  An'  he 
wanted  it  quiet,  for  he's  awful  backward  about 
shows.  An'  as  I'm  to  go  to  live  with  his  folks, — at 
least  in  a  little  house  on  the  farm,— I  might  as  well 
stay  here  as  anywhere,  even  if  I  didn't  want  to,  for 
I  can't  go  there  till  after  frost." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  The  chills  and  fever,"  said  she.  "  They  have  it 
awful  down  in  that  valley.  Why,  he  had  a  chill 
while  we  was  bein'  married,  right  at  the  bridal 
altar." 

"  You  don't  say  so ! "  exclaimed  Euphemia. 
"  How  dreadful !  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Pomona.  "  He  must  'a*  for- 
got it  was  his  chill-day,  an'  he  didn't  take  his  quinine, 
and  so  it  come  on  him  jus'  as  he  was  a-promisin'  to 
love  an'  pertect.  But  he  stuck  it  out,  and  walked 
home  by  hisself  to  finish  his  chill." 

"  And  you  didn't  go  with  him  ?  "  cried  Euphemia, 
indignantly. 

"  He  said,  no.  It  was  better  thus.  He  felt  it 
weren't  the  right  thing  to  mingle  the  agur  with  his 
marriage  vows.  He  promised  to  take  sixteen  grains 
to-morrow,  and  so  I  came  away.  He'll  be  all  right 
in  a  month  or  so,  an'  then  we'll  go  an'  keep  house. 


222 


Rudder   Grange. 


You  see  it  ain't  likely  I  could  help  him  any  bygoin' 
there  an'  gettin'  it  myself." 

"  Pomona,"  said  Euphemia,  "  this  is  dreadful. 
You  ought  to  take  a  bridal  tour  and  get  him  rid  of 
those  fearful  chills." 


"  I  never  thought  of  that,"  said  Pomona,  her  face 
lighting  up  wonderfully. 

Now  that  Euphemia  had  fallen  upon  this  happy 
idea,  she  never  dropped  it  until  she  had  made  all 
the  necessary  plans,  and  had  put  them  into  execu- 
tion. In  the  course  of  a  week  she  had  engaged 
another  servant,  and  had  started  Pomona  and  her 
husband  off  on  a  bridal  tour,  stipulating  nothing  but 


Rudder  Grange.  223 

that   they  should  take   plenty  of   quinine  in  their 
trunk. 

It  was  about  three  weeks  after  this,  and  Euphe- 
mia  and  I  were  sitting  on  our  front  steps, — I  had 
come  home  early,  and  we  had  been  potting  some  of 
the  tenderest  plants, — when  Pomona  walked  in  at 
the  gate.  She  looked  well,  and  had  on  a  very  bright 
new  dress.  Euphemia  noticed  this  the  moment  she 
came  in.  We  welcomed  her  warmly,  for  we  felt  a 
great  interest  in  this  girl,  who  had  grown  up  in  our 
family  and  under  our  care. 

"  Have  you  had  your  bridal  trip?  "  asked  Euphe- 
mia. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  said  Pomona.  "  It's  all  over  an'  done 
with,  an*  we're  settled  in  our  house." 

"  Well,  sit  right  down  here  on  the  steps  and  tell 
us  all  about  it,"  said  Euphemia,  in  a  glow  of  delight- 
ful expectancy,  and  Pomona,  nothing  loth,  sat  down 
and  told  her  tale. 

"  You  see,"  said  she,  untying  her  bonnet  strings, 
to  give  an  easier  movement  to  her  chin,  "  we  didn't 
say  where  we  was  goin*  when  we  started  out,  for  the 
truth  was  we  didn't  know.  We  couldn't  afford  to 
take  no  big  trip,  an'  yet  we  wanted  to  do  the  thing 
up  jus*  as  right  as  we  could,  seein'  as  you  had  set 
your  heart  on  it,  an'  as  we  had,  too,  for  that  matter. 
Niagery  Fall  was  what  I  wanted,  but  he  said  that  it 
cost  so  much  to  see  the  sights  there  that  he  hadn't 
money  to  spare  to  take  us  there  an'  pay  for  all  the 


224  Rudder  Grange. 

sight-seein',  too.  We  might  go,  he  said,  without 
seein'  the  sights,  or,  if  there  was  any  way  of  seein' 
the  sights  without  goin',  that  might  do,  but  he 
couldn't  do  both.  So  we  give  that  up,  an'  after 
thinkin*  a  good  deal,  we  agreed  to  go  to  some  other 
falls,  which  might  come  cheaper,  an'  maybe  be  jus' 
as  good  to  begin  on.  So  we  thought  of  Passaic  Falls, 
up  to  Paterson,  an'  we  went  there,  an'  took  a  room 
at  a  little  hotel,  an'  walked  over  to  the  falls.  But 
they  wasn't  no  good,  after  all,  for  there  wasn't  no 
water  runnin'  over  'em.  There  was  rocks  and  prec- 
ipicers,  an'  direful  depths,  an'  everything  for  a  good 
falls,  except  water,  an'  that  was  all  bein'  used  at  the 
mills.  '  Well,  Miguel,'  says  I,  '  this  is  about  as  nice 
a  place  for  a  falls  as  ever  I  see,'  but — 

"Miguel!"  cried  Euphemia.  "  Is  that  your  hus- 
band's name  ?  " 

"  Well,  no,"  said  Pomona,  "  it  isn't.  His  given 
name  is  Jonas,  but  I  hated  to  call  him  Jonas,  an'  on 
a  bridal  trip,  too.  He  might  jus'  as  well  have  had  a 
more  romantic  name,  if  his  parents  had  'a'  thought 
of  it.  So  I  determined  I'd  give  him  a  better  one, 
while  we  was  on  our  journey,  anyhow,  an'  I  changed 
his  name  to  Miguel,  which  was  the  name  of  a 
Spanish  count  I  read  of.  He  wanted  me  to  call  him 
Jiguel,  because,  he  said,  that  would  have  a  kind  of  a 
floating  smell  of  his  old  name,  but  I  didn't  never  do 
it.  Well,  neither  of  us  didn't  care  to  stay  about  no 
dry  falls,  so  we  went  back  to  the  hotel  an'  got  our 


Rudder  Grange. 


225 


supper,  and  begun  to  wonder  what  we  should  do 
next  day.  He  said  we'd  better  put  it  off  an'  dream 
about  it,  and  make  up  our  minds  nex'  mornin', 
which  I  agreed  to,  an',  that  evenin',  as  we  was  sittin' 
in  our  room  I  asked  Miguel  to  tell  me  the  story  of 
his  life.  He  said,  at  first,  it  hadn't  none,  but  when 
.1  seemed  a  kinder  put  out  at  this,  he  told  me  I 
mustn't  mind,  an'  he  would 
reveal  the  whole.  So  he 
told  me  this  story : 

"'My  grandfather,'  said 
he,  '  was  a  rich  and  power- 
ful Portugee,  a-livin'  on  the 
island  of  Jamaica.  He  had 
heaps  o'  slaves,  an'  owned 
a  black  brigantine,  that  he 
sailed  in  on  secret  voyages, 
an',  when  he  come  back, 

the  decks  an'  the  gunnels  was  often  bloody,  but 
nobody  knew  why  or  wherefore.  He  was  a  big 
man  with  black  hair  an'  very  violent.  He  could 
never  have  kept  no  help,  if  he  hadn't  owned  'em, 
but  he  was  so  rich,  that  people  respected  him,  in 
spite  of  all  his  crimes.  My  grandmother  was  a 
native  o'  the  Isle  o'  Wight.  She  was  a  frail  an' 
tender  woman,  with  yeller  hair,  and  deep  blue  eyes, 
an'  gentle,  an'  soft,  an'  good  to  the  poor.  She  used 
to  take  baskits  of  vittles  aroun'  to  sick  folks,  an' 
set  down  on  the  side  o'  their  beds  an'  read  "  The 

10* 


226  Rudder  Grange. 

Shepherd  o'  Salisbury  Plains  "  to  'em.  She  hardly 
ever  speaked  above  her  breath,  an'  always  wore  white 
gowns  with  a  silk  kerchief  a-folded  placidly  aroun' 
her  neck.'  '  Them  was  awful  different  kind  o'  people,' 
I  says  to  him,  '  I  wonder  how  they  ever  come  to  be 
married.'  *  They  never  was  married,'  says  he. 
1  Never  married  ! '  I  hollers,  a-jumpin'  up  from  my 
chair,  '  and  you  sit  there  carmly  an'  look  me  in  the 
eye.'  '  Yes,'  says  he,  *  they  was  never  married. 
They  never  met ;  one  was  my  mother's  father,  and 
the  other  one  my  father's  mother.  'Twas  well  they 
did  not  wed.'  '  I  should  think  so,'  said  I,  'an'  now, 
what's  the  good  of  tellin'  me  a  thing  like  that  ? ' 

"  '  It's  about  as  near  the  mark  as  most  of  the 
stories  of  people's  lives,  I  reckon,'  says  he,  *  an'  be- 
sides I'd  only  jus'  begun  it.' 

"  '  Well,  I  don't  want  no  more,'  says  I,  an'  I  jus' 
tell  this  story  of  his  to  show  what  kind  of  stories  he 
told  about  that  time.  He  said  they  was  pleasant 
fictions,  but  I  told  him  that  if  he  didn't  look  out 
he'd  hear  'em  called  by  a  good  deal  of  a  worse  kind 
of  a  name  than  that.  The  nex'  mornin'  he  asked 
me  what  was  my  dream,  an'  I  told  him  I  didn't 
have  exactly  no  dream  about  it,  but  my  idea  was  to 
have  somethin'  real  romantic  for  the  rest  of  our 
bridal  days. 

"  '  Well,'  says  he,  '  what  would  you  like  ?  I  had  a 
dream,  but  it  wasn't  no  ways  romantic,  and  I'll  jus' 
fall  in  with  whatever  you'd  like  best.' 


Rudder  Grange.  227 

"  *  All  right/  says  I,  *  an'  the  most  romantic-est 
thing  that  I  can  think  of  is  for  us  to  make-believe 
for  the  rest  of  this  trip.  We  can  make-believe  we're 
anything  we  please,  an'  if  we  think  so  in  real  earnest 
it  will  be  pretty  much  the  same  thing  as  if  we  really 
was.  We  ain't  likely  to  have  no  chance  ag'in  of  being 
jus'  what  we've  a  mind  to,  an'  so  let's  try  it  now.' 

" '  What  would  you  have  a  mind  to  be  ?  '  says  he. 

"  '  Well,'  says  I,  '  let's  be  an  earl  an'  a  earl  ess.' 

"  *  Earl  ess  ?  '  says  he,  '  there's  no  such  a  person.' 

"  <  Why,  yes,  there  is,  of  course,'  I  says  to  him. 
'  What's  a  she  earl  if  she  isn't  a  earl  ess  ? 

" '  Well,  I  don't  know,'  says  he, '  never  havin'  lived 
with  any  of  'em,  but  we'll  let  it  go  at  that.  An'  how 
do  you  want  to  work  the  thing  out  ?  ' 

"  '  This  way,'  says  I.     *  You,  Miguel ' 

"'Jiguel,'  says  he. 

"'The  earl,'  says  I,  not  mindin'  his  interruption, 
1  an'  me,  your  noble  earl  ess,  will  go  to  some  good 
place  or  other — it  don't  matter  much  jus'  where,  and 
whatever  house  we  live  in  we'll  call  our  castle,  an* 
we'll  consider  it's  got  draw-bridges  an'  portcullises 
an'  moats  an'  secrit  dungeons,  an'  we'll  remember 
our  noble  ancesters,  an'  behave  accordin'.  An'  the 
people  we  meet  we  can  make  into  counts  and  dukes 
and  princes,  without  their  knowin'  anything  about 
it ;  an'  we  can  think  our  clothes  is  silk  an'  satin  an' 
velwet,  all  covered  with  dimuns  an'  precious  stones, 
jus'  as  well  as  not.' 


228  Rudder  Grange. 

"  'Jus*  as  well/  says  he. 

"  *  An'  then,'  I  went  on,  '  we  can  go  an'  have  chi- 
val  rous  adventures, — or  make  believe  we're  havin' 
'em, — an'  build  up  a  atmosphere  of  romanticness 
aroun'  us  that'll  carry  us  back— 

"  '  To  ole  Virginny,'  says  he. 

"  *  No,'  says  I,  *  for  thousands  of  years,  or  at 
least  enough  back  for  the  times  of  tournaments  and 
chi  val  ry.' 

"'An'  so  your  idea  is  that  we  make-believe  all 
these  things,  an'  don't  pay  for  none  of  'em,  is  it?' 
says  he. 

" '  Yes,'  says  I ;  '  an'  you,  Miguel ' 

"  '  Jiguel,'  says  he. 

" '  Can  ask  me,  if  you  don't  know  what  chi  val  ric 
or  romantic  thing  you  ought  to  do  or  to  say  so  as  to 
feel  yourself  truly  an'  reely  a  earl,  for  I've  read  a 
lot  about  these  people,  an'  know  jus'  what  ought  to 
be  did.' 

"  Well,  he  set  himself  down  an*  thought  a  while, 
an*  then  he  says,  '  All  right.  We'll  do  that  an'  we'll 
begin  to-morrow  mornin',  for  I've  got  a  little  business 
to  do  in  the  city  which  wouldn't  be  exactly  the 
right  thing  for  me  to  stoop  to  after  I'm  a  earl,  so  I'll 
go  in  an'  do  it  while  I'm  a  common  person,  an' 
come  back  this  afternoon,  an'  you  can  walk  about 
an'  look  at  the  dry  falls,  an'  amuse  yourself  gen'rally, 
till  I  come  back.' 

" '  All  right,'  says  I,  an'. off  he  goes. 


Rudder  Grange.  229 

"  He  come  back  afore  dark,  an'  the  nex'  mornin' 
we  got  ready  to  start  off. 

"  *  Have  you  any  particular  place  to  go  ?'  says  he. 

"  *  No,'  says  I, '  one  place  is  as  likely  to  be  as  good 
as  another  for  our  style  o'  thing.  If  it  don't  suit, 
we  can  imagine  it  does.' 

"  *  That'll  do,'  says  he,  an'  we  had  our  trunk  sent 
to  the  station,  and  walked  ourselves.  When  we  got 
there,  he  says  to  me,  '  Which  number  will  you  have, 
five  or  seven  ?  ' 

"  '  Either  one  will  suit  me,  Earl  Miguel,'  says  I. 

"'  Jiguel,'  says  he,  '  an'  we'll  make  it  seven.  An' 
now  I'll  go  an'  look  at  the  time-table,  an*  we'll  buy 
tickets  for  the  seventh  station  from  here.  The  sev- 
enth station,'  says  he,  comin'  back, '  is  Pokus.  We'll 
go  to  Pokus.' 

"  So  when  the  train  come  we  got  in,  an'  got  out 
at  Pokus.  It  was  a  pretty  sort  of  a  place,  out  in  the 
country,  with  the  houses  scattered  a  long  ways  apart, 
like  stingy  chicken-feed. 

"  '  Let's  walk  down  this  road,'  says  he,  '  till  we 
come  to  a  good  house  for  a  castle,  an'  then  we  can 
ask  'em  to  take  us  to  board,  an'  if  they  wont  do  it 
we'll  go  to  the  next,  an'  so  on.' 

" '  All  right,'  says  I,  glad  enough  to  see  how  pat 
he  entered  into  the  thing. 

"  We  walked  a  good  ways,  an'  passed  some  little 
houses  that  neither  of  us  thought  would  do  for  us, 
without  more  imaginin'  than  would  pay,  till  we  came 


230  Rudder  Grange. 

to  a  pretty  big  house  near  the  river,  which  struck 
our  fancy  in  a  minute.  It  was  a  stone  house,  an'  it 
had  trees  aroun'  it,  there  was  a  garden  with  a  wall, 
an'  things  seemed  to  suit  first  rate,  so  we  made  up 
our  minds  right  off  that  we'd  try  this  place. 

"  '  You  wait  here  under  this  tree/  says  he, '  an'  I'll 
go  an'  ask  'em  if  they'll  take  us  to  board  for  a  while.' 

"  So  I  waits,  an'  he  goes  up  to  the  gate,  an'  pretty 
soon  he  comes  out  an'  says,  '  All  right,  they'll  take 
us,  an*  they'll  send  a  man  with  a  wheelbarrer  to  the 
station  for  our  trunk.'  So  in  we  goes.  The  man 
was  a  country-like  lookin*  man,  an'  his  wife  was  a 
very  pleasant  woman.  The  house  wasn't  furnished 
very  fine,  but  we  didn't  care  for  that,  an'  they  gave 
us  a  big  room  that  had  rafters  instid  of  a  ceilin',  an' 
a  big  fire-place,  an'  that,  I  said,  was  jus'  exac'ly  what 
we  wanted.  The  room  was  almos'  like  a  donjon 
itself,  which  he  said  he  reckoned  had  once  been  a 
kitchin,  but  I  told  him  that  a  earl  hadn't  nothin'  to 
do  with  kitchins,  an'  that  this  was  a  tapestry  cham- 
ber, an'  I'd  tell  him  all  about  the  strange  figgers  on 
|he  embroidered  hangin's,  when  the  shadders  begun 
to  fall. 

"  It  rained  a  little  that  afternoon,  an'  we  stayed 
in  our  room,  an'  hung  our  clothes  an'  things  about 
on  nails  an'  hooks,  an'  made  believe  they  was  armor 
an'  ancient  trophies  an'  portraits  of  a  long  line  of 
ancesters.  I  did  most  of  the  make-believin' ;  but  he 
agreed  to  ev'rything.  The  man  who  kep'  the  house's 


Riidder  Grange.  231 

wife  brought  us  our  supper  about  dark,  because  she 
said  she  thought  we  might  like  to  have  it  together 
cozy,  an'  so  we  did,  an'  was  glad  enough  of  it ;  an' 
after  supper  we  sat  before  the  fire-place,  where  we 
made-believe  the  flames  was  a-roarin'  an'  cracklin'  an' 
a-lightin'  up  the  bright  places  on  the  armor  a-hangin' 
aroun',  while  the  storm — which  we  made-believe — 
was  a-ragin'  an'  whirlin'  outside.  I  told  him  a  long 
story  about  a  lord  an'  a  lady,  which  was  two  or  three 
stories  I  had  read,  run  together,  an'  we  had  a  splen- 
did time.  It  all  seemed  real  real  to  me." 


CHAPTER     XV. 

In  which  two  New  Friends  disport  themselves. 


r'  'HE  nex'  mornin'  was  fine  an'  nice/' 
continued  Pomona,  "an'  after  our 
breakfast  had  been  brought  to  us,  we 
went  out  in  the  grounds  to  take  a 
walk.  There  was  lots  of  trees  back  of  the  house, 
with  walks  among  'em,  an'  altogether  it  was  so  ole- 
timey  an'  castleish  that  I  was  as  happy  as  a  lark. 

"  '  Come  along,  Earl  Miguel,'  I  says  ;  '  let  us  tread 
a  measure  'neath  these  mantlin'  trees.' 

"  'All  right,'  says  he.  'Your  Jiguel  attends  you. 
An'  what  might  our  noble  second  name  be  ?  What 
is  we  earl  an'  earl  ess  of  ? ' 

" '  Oh,  anything,'  says  I.  '  Let's  take  any  name 
at  random.' 

"  *  All  right,'  says  he.  '  Let  it  be  random.  Earl 
an'  Earl  ess  Random.  Come  along.' 


Rudder  Grange.  233 

"  So  we  walks  about,  I  feelin'  mighty  noble  an' 
springy,  an'  afore  long  we  sees  another  couple  a- 
walkin'  about  under  the  trees. 

"  '  Who's  them  ?  '  says  I. 

u  '  Don't  know/  says  he,  '  but  I  expect  they're 
some  o'  the  other  boarders.  The  man  said  he  had 
other  boarders  when  I  spoke  to  him  about  takin' 
us.' 

"  '  Let's  make-believe  they're  a  count  an'  count- 
ess/ says  I.  '  Count  an'  Countess  of— 

"  '  Milwaukee/  says  he. 

"  I  didn't  think  much  of  this  for  a  noble  name  but 
still  it  would  do  well  enough,  an'  so  we  called  'em 
the  Count  and  Countess  of  Milwaukee,  an'  we  kep' 
on  a  meanderin'.  Pretty  soon  he  gets  tired  an'  says 
he  was  agoin'  back  to  the  house  to  have  a  smoke 
because  he  thought  it  was  time  to  have  a  little  fun 
which  weren't  all  imaginations,  an'  I  says  to  him  to 
go  along,  but  it  would  be  the  hardest  thing  in  this 
world  for  me  to  imagine  any  fun  in  smokin'.  He 
laughed  an'  went  back,  while  I  walked  on,  a-makin'- 
believe  a  page,  in  blue  puffed  breeches,  was  a-holdin' 
up  my  train,  which  was  of  light-green  velvet  trimmed 
with  silver  lace.  Pretty  soon,  turnin'  a  little  corner, 
I  meets  the  Count  and  Countess  of  Milwaukee. 
She  was  a  small  lady,  dressed  in  black,  an'  he  was  a 
big  fat  man  about  fifty  years  old,  with  a  grayish 
beard.  They  both  wore  little  straw  hats,  exac'ly 
alike, 'an  had  on  green  carpet  slippers. 


234 


Rudder  Grange. 


"  They  stops  when  they  sees  me,  an'  the  lady  she 
bows  and  says  *  good  mornin','  an'  then  she  smiles, 
very  pleasant,  an'  asks  if  I  was  a-livin'  here,  an'  when 
I  said  I  was,  she  says  she  was  too,  for  the  present, 


an'  what  was  my  name.  I  had  half  a  mind  to  say 
the  Earl  ess  Random,  but  she  was  so  pleasant  and 
sociable  that  I  didn't  like  to  seem  to  be  makin'  fun, 
an'  so  I  said  I  was  Mrs.  De  Henderson. 

"  '  An*  I,'  says  she,  '  am  Mrs.  General  Andrew 
Jackson,  widow  of  the  ex-President  of  the  United 
States.  I  am  staying  here  on  business  connected 


Rudder  Grange.  235 

with  the  United  States  Bank.  This  is  my  brother/ 
says  she,  pointin'  to  the  big  man. 

"'How  d'ye  do?  '  says  he,  a-puttin'  his  hands  to- 
gether, turnin'  his  toes  out  an'  makin'  a  funny  little 
bow.  '  I  am  General  Tom  Thumb/  he  says  in  a 
deep,  gruff  voice,  'an'  I've  been  before  all  the 
crown  ed  heads  of  Europe,  Asia,  Africa,  America 
an'  Australia, — all  a's  but  one, — an'  I'm  waitin'  here 
for  a  team  of  four  little  milk-white  oxen,  no  bigger 
than  tall  cats,  which  is  to  be  hitched  to  a  little  hay- 
wagon,  which  I  am  to  ride  in,  with  a  little  pitchfork 
an'  real  real  farmer's  clothes,  only  small.  This  will 
come  to-morrow,  when  I  will  pay  for  it  an'  ride 
away  to  exhibit.  It  may  be  here  now,  an'  I  will 
go  an'  see.  Good-bye.' 

" '  Good-bye,  likewise/  says  the  lady.  '  I  hope 
you'll  have  all  you're  thinkin'  you're  havin',  an' 
more  too,  but  less  if  you'd  like  it.  Farewell.'  An* 
away  they  goes. 

"  Well,  you  may  be  sure,  I  stood  there  amazed 
enough,  an'  mad  too  when  I  heard  her  talk  about 
my  bein'  all  I  was  a-thinkin'  I  was.  I  was  sure 
my  husband — scarce  two  weeks  old,  a  husband — 
had  told  all.  It  was  too  bad.  I  wished  I  had  jus' 
said  I  was  the  Earl  ess  of  Random  an'  brassed  it 
out. 

"  I  rushed  back  an'  foun*  him  smokin'  a  pipe  on  a 
back  porch.  I  charged  him  with  his  perfidy,  but  he 
vowed  so  earnest  that  he  had  not  told  these  people 


236  Rudder  Grange. 

of  our  fancies,  or  ever  had  spoke  to  'em,  that  I  had 
to  believe  him. 

"  '  I  expec'/  says  he,  '  that  they're  jus'  makin'- 
believe — as  we  are.  There  ain't  no  patent  on  make- 
believes.' 

"  This  didn't  satisfy  me,  an'  as  he  seemed  to  be  so 
careless  about  it  I  walked  away,  an'  left  him  to  his 
pipe.  I  determined  to  go  take  a  walk  along  some 
of  the  country  roads  an'  think  this  thing  over  for 
myself.  I  went  aroun'  to  the  front  gate,  where  the 
woman  of  the  house  was  a-standin'  talkin'  to  some- 
body, an'  I  jus'  bowed  to  her,  for  I  didn't  feel  like 
sayin'  anything,  an'  walked  past  her. 

"  '  Hello  ! '  said  she,  jumpin'  in  front  of  me  an 
shuttin'  the  gate.  'You  can't  go  out  here.  If  you 
want  to  walk  you  can  walk  about  in  the  grounds. 
There's  lots  of  shady  paths.' 

"  <  Can't  go  out !  '  says  I.  '  Can't  go  out !  What 
do  you  mean  by  that  ? ' 

"  '  I  jnean  jus' what  I  say,'  said  she,  an'  she  locked 
the  gate. 

"  I  was  so  mad  that  I  could  have  pushed  her  over 
an'  broke  the  gate,  but  I  thought  that  if  there  was 
anything  of  that  kind  to  do  I  had  a  husband  whose 
business  it  was  to  attend  to  it,  an'  so  I  runs  aroun' 
to  him  to  tell  him.  He  had  gone  in,  but  I  met  Mrs. 
Jackson  an'  her  brother. 

" '  What's  the  matter  ? '  said  she,  seein'  what  a 
hurry  I  was  in. 


Rudder  Grange. 


237 


"  '  That  woman  at  the  gate/  I  said,  almost  chokin' 
as  I  spoke,  '  won't  let  me  out.' 

"  '  She  won't  ?  '  said  Mrs.  Jackson.  «  Well,  that's  a 
way  she  has.  Four  times  the  Bank  of  the  United 


States  has  closed  its  doors  before  I  was  able  to  get 
there,  on  account  of  that  woman's  obstinacy  about 
the  gate.  Indeed,  I  have  not  been  to  the  Bank  at 
all  yet,  for  of  course  it  is  of  no  use  to  go  after  bank- 
ing hours.' 


238  Rudder  Grange. 

"  'An*  I  believe,  too,'  said  her  brother  in  his  heavy 
voice, '  that  she  has  kept  out  my  team  of  little  oxen. 
Otherwise  it  would  be  here  now/ 

"  I  couldn't  stand  any  more  of  this  an'  ran  into 
our  room  where  my  husband  was.  When  I  told 
him  what  had  happened,  he  was  real  sorry. 

"  '  I  didn't  know  you  thought  of  going  out,'  he 
said,  '  or  I  would  have  told  you  all  about  it.  An* 
now  sit  down  an'  quiet  yourself,  an'  I'll  tell  you  jus 
how  things  is.'  So  down  we  sits,  an'  says  he,  jus'  as 
carm  as  a  summer  cloud,  '  My  dear,  this  is  a  lunertic 
asylum.  Now,  don't  jump,'  he  says ;  '  I  didn't  bring 
you  here,  because  I  thought  you  was  crazy,  but  be- 
cause I  wanted  you  to  see  what  kind  of  people  they 
was  who  imagined  themselves  earls  and  earl  esses, 
an'  all  that  sort  o*  thing,  an'  to  have  an  idea  how  the 
thing  worked  after  you'd  been  doing  it  a  good  while 
an'  had  got  used  to  it.  I  thought  it  would  be  a 
good  thing,  while  I  was  Earl  Jiguel  and  you  was  a 
noble  earl  ess,  to  come  to  a  place  where  people  acted 
that  way.  I  knowed  you  had  read  lots  o'  books 
about  knights  and  princes  an'  bloody  towers,  an'  that 
you  knowed  all  about  them  things,  but  I  didn't  sup- 
pose you  did  know  how  them  same  things  looked  in 
these  days,  an'  a  lunertic  asylum  was  the  only  place 
where  you  could  see  'em.  So  I  went  to  a  doctor  I 
knowed,'  he  says,  '  an'  got  a  certificate  from  him  to 
this  private  institution,  where  we  could  stay  for  a 
while  an'  get  posted  on  romantics.' 


Rudder  Grange.  239 

" '  Then,'  says  I,  '  the  upshot  was  that  you  wanted 
to  teach  a  lesson.' 

"  '  Jus'  that,'  says  he. 

"  '  All  right,'  says  I  ;  '  it's  teached.  An'  now  let's 
get  out  of  this  as  quick  as  we  kin.' 

"  '  That'll  suit  me,'  he  says,  '  an'  we'll  leave  by  the 
noon  train.  I'll  go  an'  see  about  the  trunk  bein' 
sent  down.' 

"  So  off  he  went  to  see  the  man  who  kept  the 
house,  while  I  falls  to  packin'  up  the  trunk  as  fast  as 
I  could." 

"  Weren't  you  dreadfully  angry  at  him  ?  "  asked 
Euphemia,  who,  having  a  romantic  streak  in  her  own 
composition,  did  not  sympathize  altogether  with  this 
heroic  remedy  for  Pomona's  disease. 

"  No,  ma'am,"  said  Pomona,  "  not  long.  When  I 
thought  of  Mrs.  General  Jackson  and  Tom  Thumb, 
I  couldn't  help  thinkin'  that  I  must  have  looked 
pretty  much  the  same  to  my  husband,  who,  I  knowed 
now,  had  only  been  makin'-believe  to  make-believe. 
An'  besides,  I  couldn't  be  angry  very  long  for  laugh- 
in',  for  when  he  come  back  in  a  minute,  as  mad  as  a 
March  hare,  an'  said  they  wouldn't  let  me  out  nor 
him  nuther,  I  fell  to  laughin'  ready  to  crack  my 
sides. 

" '  They  say,'  said  he,  as  soon  as  he  could  speak 
straight, '  that  we  can't  go  out  without  another  cer- 
tificate from  the  doctor.  I  told  'em  I'd  go  myself  an' 
see  about  it,  but  they  said  no,  I  couldn't,  for  if  they 


240  Rudder  Grange. 

did  that  way  everybody  who  ever  was  sent  here 
would  be  goin'  out  the  next  day  to  see  about  leav- 
in'.  I  didn't  want  to  make  no  fuss,  so  I  told  them 
I'd  write  a  letter  to  the  doctor  and  tell  him  to  send 
an  order  that  would  soon  show  them  whether  we 
could  go  out  or  not.  They  said  that  would  be  the 
best  thing  to  do,  an'  so  I'm  goin'  to  write  it  this 
minute/ — which  he  did. 

"  '  How  long  will  we  have  to  wait  ?  '  says  I,  when 
the  letter  was  done. 

"  '  Well,'  says  he,  '  the  doctor  can't  get  this  before 
to-morrow  mornin',  an'  even  if  he  answers  right 
away,  we  won't  get  our  order  to  go  out  until  the 
next  day.  So  we'll  jus'  have  to  grin  an'  bear  it  for  a 
day  an'  a  half.' 

"  *  This  is  a  lively  old  bridal-trip,'  said  I, — 'dry  falls 
an'  a  lunertic  asylum.' 

" '  We'll  try  to  make  the  rest  of  it  better,'  said  he. 

"  But  the  next  day  wasn't  no  better.  We  staid  in 
our  room  all  day,  for  we  didn't  care  to  meet  Mrs. 
Jackson  an'  her  crazy  brother,  an*  I'm  sure  we  didn't 
want  to  see  the  mean  creatures  who  kept  the  house. 
We  knew  well  enough  that  they  only  wanted  us 
to  stay  so  that  they  could  get  more  board-money 
out  of  us." 

"  I  should  have  broken  out,"  cried  Euphemia.  "  I 
would  never  have  staid  an  hour  in  that  place,  after 
I  found  out  what  it  was,  especially  on  a  bridal  trip." 

"  If  we'd  done  that,"  said  Pomona,  "  they'd  have 


Rudder  Grange.  241 

got  men  after  us,  an'  then  everybody  would  have 
thought  we  was  real  crazy.  We  made  up  our  minds 
to  wait  for  the  doctor's  letter,  but  it  wasn't  much 
fun.  An'  I  didn't  tell  no  romantic  stories  to  fill  up 
the  time.  We  sat  down  an'  behaved  like  the  com- 
monest kind  o'  people.  You  never  saw  anybody 
sicker  of  romantics  than  I  was  when  I  thought  of 
them  two  loons  that  called  themselves  Mrs.  Andrew 
Jackson  an'  General  Tom  Thumb.  I  dropped  Mig- 
uel altogether,  an'  he  dropped  Jiguel,  which  was  a  re- 
lief to  me,  an'  I  took  strong  to  Jonas,  even  callin' 
him  Jone,  which  I  consider  a  good  deal  uglier  an' 
commoner  even  than  Jonas.  He  didn't  like  this 
much,  but  said  that  if  it  would  help  me  out  of  the 
Miguel,  he  didn't  care. 

"  Well,  on  the  mornin'  of  the  next  day  I  went  into 
the  little  front  room  that  they  called  the  office,  to 
see  if  there  was  a  letter  for  us  yet,  an'  there  wasn't 
nobody  there  to  ask.  But  I  saw  a  pile  of  letters 
under  a  weight  on  the  table,  an'  I  jus'  looked  at 
these  to  see  if  one  of  'em  was  for  us,  an'  if  there 
wasn't  the  very  letter  Jone  had  written  to  the  doc- 
tor !  They'd  never  sent  it !  I  rushes  back  to  Jone 
an'  tells  him,  an'  he  jus'  set  an'  looked  at  me  with- 
out sayin'  a  word.  I  didn't  wonder  he  couldn't 
speak. 

"  '  I'll  go  an'  let  them  people  know  what  I  think 
of  'em,'  says  I. 

"  '  Don't    do    that,'  said  Jone,  catchin'  me  by  the 


242  Rudder  Grange. 

sleeve.  'It  won't  do  no  good.  Leave  the  letter 
there  an'  don't  say  nothin'  about  it.  We'll  stay  here 
till  afternoon  quite  quiet,  an'  then  we'll  go  away. 
That  garden  wall  isn't  high.' 

"  '  An'  how  about  the  trunk  ? '  says  I. 

"  '  Oh,  we'll  take  a  few  things  in  our  pockets,  an' 
lock  up  the  trunk,  an'  ask  the  doctor  to  send  for  it 
when  we  get  to  the  city.' 

"  4  All  right,'  says  I.  An'  we  went  to  work  to  get 
ready  to  leave. 

"  About  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  when  it  was 
a  nice  time  to  take  a  walk  under  the  trees,  we 
meandered  quietly  down  to  a  corner  of  the  back 
wall,  where  Jone  thought  it  would  be  rather  con- 
venient to  get  over.  He  hunted  up  a  short  piece  of 
board  which  he  leaned  up  ag'in  the  wall,  an'  then 
he  put  his  foot  on  the  top  of  that,  an'  got  hold  of 
the  top  of  the  wall  an'  climbed  up,  as  easy  as 
nuthin'.  Then  he  reached  down  to  help  me  step 
onto  the  board.  But  jus'  as  he  was  a-goin'  to  take 
me  by  the  hand :  *  Hello  !  '  says  he.  *  Look 
there  ! '  An'  I  turned  round  an'  looked,  an'  if  there 
wasn't  Mrs.  Andrew  Jackson  an'  General  Tom 
Thumb  a-walkin'  down  the  path. 

" '  What  shall  we  do  ?  '  says  I. 

"  '  Come  along,'  says  he.  '  We  aint  agoin'  to  stop 
for  them.  Get  up,  all  the  same.' 

"  I  tried  to  get  up  as  he  said,  but  it  wasn't  so  easy 
for  me  on  account  of  my  not  bein'  such  a  high 


HELLO  I  '   SAYS   HE,   l  LOOK  A-THERE 


Rudder  Grange.  245 

stepper  as  Jone,  an*  I  was  a  good  while  a-gettin'  a 
good  footin'  on  the  board. 

"  Mrs.  Jackson  an'  the  General,  they  came  right 
up  to  us  an'  set  down  on  a  bench  which  was  fas- 
tened between  two  trees  near  the  wall.  An'  there 
they  set,  a-lookin'  steady  at  us  with  their  four  little 
eyes,  like  four  empty  thimbles. 

" '  You  appear  to  be  goin'  away,'  says  Mrs. 
Jackson. 

" '  Yes,'  says  Jone  from  the  top  of  the  wall. 
*  We're  a-goin'  to  take  a  slight  stroll  outside,  this 
salu  brious  evenin'.' 

"  '  Do  you  think,'  says  she,  '  that  the  United 
States  Bank  would  be  open  this  time  of  day  ? ' 

"  '  Oh  no,'  says  Jone, '  the  banks  all  close  at  three 
o'clock.  It's  a  good  deal  after  that  now.' 

" '  But  if  I  told  the  officers  who  I  was,  wouldn't 
that  make  a  difference  ?  '  says  she.  *  Wouldn't  they 
go  down  an'  open  the  bank  ?  ' 

" '  Not  much,'  says  Jone,  givin'  a  pull  which 
brought  me  right  up  to  the  top  o'  the  wall,  an'  al- 
most clean  down  the  other  side,  with  one  jerk.  '  I 
never  knowed  no  officers  that  would  do  that.  But,' 
says  he,  a  kind  o'  shuttin'  his  eyes  so  that  she 
shouldn't  see  he  was  lyin',  'we'll  talk  about  that 
when  we  come  back.' 

"'If  you  see  that  team  of  little  oxen,'  says  the 
big  man,  '  send  'em  'round  to  the  front  gate.' 

"'All  right,'  says  Jone  ;  an'  he  let  me  down  the 


246  Rudder  Grange. 

outside  of  the  wall  as  if  I  had  been  a  bag  o'  horse- 
feed. 

" '  But  if  the  bank  isn't  open  you  can't  pay  for  it 
when  it  does  come,'  we  heard  the  old  lady  a-sayin' 
as  we  hurried  off. 

"  We  didn't  lose  no  time  agoin'  down  to  that 
station,  an'  it's  lucky  we  didn't,  for  a  train  for  the 
city  was  comin'  jus'  as  we  got  there,  an'  we  jumped 
aboard  without  havin'  no  time  to  buy  tickets. 
There  wasn't  many  people  in  our  car,  an*  we  got  a 
seat  together. 

" '  Now  then,'  says  Jone,  as  the  cars  went  a- 
buzzin'  along,  *  I  feel  as  if  I  was  really  on  a  bridal 
trip,  which  I  mus'  say  I  didn't  at  that  there  asylum.' 

"  An'  then  I  said:  <  I  should  think  not,'  an'  we 
both  bust  out  a-laughin',  as  well  we  might,  feelin' 
sich  a  change  of  surroundin's. 

" '  Do  you  think,'  says  somebody  behind  us,  when 
we'd  got  through  laughin',  '  that  if  I  was  to  send  a 
boy  up  to  the  cashier  he  would  either  come  down 
or  send  me  the  key  of  the  bank  ? ' 

"We  both  turned  aroun'  as  quick  as  lightnin',  an' 
if  there  wasn't  them  two  lunertics  in  the  seat  behind 
us! 

"  It  nearly  took  our  breaths  away  to  see  them 
settin'  there,  staring  at  us  with  their  thimble  eyes, 
an'  a-wearin'  their  little  straw  hats,  both  alike. 

"  '  How  on  the  livin'  earth  did  you  two  get  here  ?  ' 
says  I,  as  soon  as  I  could  speak. 


Rudder  Grange.  247 

"  '  Oh,  we  come  by  the  same  way  you  come — by 
the  tern  per  ary  stairs,'  says  Mrs.  Jackson.  '  We 
thought  if  it  was  too  late  to  draw  any  money  to- 
night, it  might  be  well  to  be  on  hand  bright  an' 
early  in  the  mornin'.  An'  so  we  follered  you  two, 
as  close  as  we  could,  because  we  knew  you  could 
take  us  right  to  the  very  bank  doors,  an'  we  didn't 
know  the  way  ourselves,  not  never  havin'  had  no 
occasion  to  attend  to  nothin'  of  this  kind  before.' 

"  Jone  an'  I  looked  at  each  other,  but  we  didn't 
speak  for  a  minute. 

"  *  Then,'  says  I,  '  here's  a  pretty  kittle  o'  fish.' 

"'I  should  kinder  say  so,'  says  Jone.  'We've 
got  these  here  two  lunertics  on  our  hands,  sure 
enough,  for  there  ain't  no  train  back  to  Pokus  to- 
night, an'  I  wouldn't  go  back  with  'em  if  there  was. 
We  must  keep  an  eye  on  'em  till  we  can  see  the 
doctor  to-morrow.' 

" '  I  suppose  we  must,'  said  I,  *  but  this  don't  seem 
as  much  like  a  bridal  trip  as  it  did  a  while  ago.' 

"  'You're  right  there,'  says  Jone. 

"  When  the  conductor  came  along  we  had  to  pay 
the  fare  of  them  two  lunertics,  besides  our  own,  for 
neither  of  'em  had  a  cent  about  'em.  When  we  got 
to  town  we  went  to  a  smallish  hotel,  near  the  ferry, 
where  Jone  knowed  the  man  who  kep'  it,  who 
wouldn't  bother  about  none  of  us  havin'  a  scrap  of 
baggage,  knowin'  he'd  get  his  money  all  the  same, 
out  of  either  Jone  or  his  father.  The  General  an' 


248  Rudder  Grange. 

his  sister  looked  a  kind  o'  funny  in  their  little  straw 
hats  an*  green  carpet  slippers,  an'  the  clerk  didn't 
know  whether  he  hadn't  forgot  how  to  read  writin' 
when  the  big  man  put  down  the  names  of  General 
Tom  Thumb  and  Mrs.  ex-President  Andrew  Jack- 
son, which  he  wasn't  ex-President  anyway,  bein' 
dead ;  but  Jone  he  whispered  they  was  travelin' 
under  noms  dess  plummys  (I  told  him  to  say 
that),  an'  he  would  fix  it  all  right  in  the  mornin'. 
An'  then  we  got  some  supper,  which  it  took  them 
two  lunertics  a  long  time  to  eat,  for  they  was  all  the 
time  forgettin'  what  particular  kind  o'  business  they 
was  about,  an*  then  we  was  showed  to  our  rooms. 
They  had  two  rooms  right  across  the  hall  from  ours. 
We  hadn't  been  inside  our  room  five  minutes  before 
Mrs.  General  Jackson  come  a-knockin'  at  the  door. 

" '  Look-a-here,'  she  says  to  me,  '  there's  a  unfore- 
seen contingency  in  my  room.  An'  it  smells.' 

"  So  I  went  right  in,  an'  sure  enough  it  did  smell, 
for  she  had  turned  on  all  the  gases,  besides  the  one 
that  was  lighted. 

"'What  did  you  do  that  for?'  says  I,  a-turnin' 
them  off  as  fast  as  I  could. 

"  '  I'd  like  to  know  what  they're  made  for,'  says 
she,  '  if  they  isn't  to  be  turned  on.' 

"When  I  told  Jone  about  this  he  looked  real  se- 
rious, an'  jus'  then  a  waiter  came  up-stairs  an'  went 
into  the  big  man's  room.  In  a  minute  he  come  out 
an'  says  to  Jone  an'  me,  a-grinnin' : 


Rudder  Grange. 


249 


"  '  We  can't  suit  him  no  better  in  this  house.' 

u  *  What  does  he  want  ? '  asked  Jone. 

"  '  Why,  he  wants  a  smaller  bed,'  says  the  waiter. 
'  He  says  he  can't  sleep  in  a  bed  as  big  as  that,  an' 
we  haven't  none  smaller  in  this  house,  which  he 
couldn't  get  into  if  we  had,  in  my  opinion,'  says  he. 

"  '  All  right,'  says  Jone.     '  Jus'  you  go  down-stairs, 


an'  I'll  fix  him.'  So  the  man  goes  off,  still  a-grin- 
nin'.  '  I  tell  you  what  it  is/  says  Jone,  '  it  wont  do 
to  let  them  two  lunertics  have  rooms  to  themselves. 
They'll  set  this  house  afire  or  turn  it  upside  down  in 
the  middle  of  the  night,  if  they  has.  There's  nuthin' 
to  be  done  but  for  you  to  sleep  with  the  woman  an' 
for  me  to  sleep  with  the  man,  an'  to  keep  'em  from 
cuttin'  up  till  mornin'.' 


250  Rudder  Grange. 

"  So  Jone  he  went  into  the  room  where  General 
Tom  Thumb  was  a-settin'  with  his  hat  on,  a-lookin' 
doleful  at  the  bed,  an*  says  he : 

"  '  What's  the  matter  with  the  bed  ?  ' 

"'Oh,  it's  too  large  entirely/  says  the  General. 
'  It  wouldn't  do  for  me  to  sleep  in  a  bed  like  that. 
It  would  ruin  my  character  as  a  genuine  Thumb.' 

'  Well,'  says  Jone,  '  it's  nearly  two  times  too  big 
for  you,  but  if  you  an'  me  was  both  to  sleep  in  it,  it 
would  be  about  right,  wouldn't  it  ? ' 

"  '  Oh  yes,'  says  the  General.  An'  he  takes  off  his 
hat,  an'  Jone  says  good-night  to  me  an'  shuts  the 
door.  Our  room  was  better  than  Mrs.  General 
Jackson's,  so  I  takes  her  in  there,  an'  the  fust  thing 
she  does  is  to  turn  on  all  the  gases. 

"  '  Stop  that ! '  I  hollers.  '  If  you  do  that  again, 
—I'll— I'll  break  the  United  States  Bank  to-mor- 
row ! ' 

" '  How'll  you  do  that  ? '  says  she. 

"  *  I'll  draw  out  all  my  capital/  says  I. 

"'I  hope  really  you  wont/  says  she,  *  till  I've 
been  there/  an'  she  leans  out  of  the  open  winder  to 
look  into  the  street,  but  while  she  was  a-lookin'  out 
I  see  her  left  hand  a-creepin'  up  to  the  gas  by  the 
winder,  that  wasn't  lighted.  I  felt  mad  enough  to 
take  her  by  the  feet  an'  pitch  her  out,  as  you  an' 
the  boarder,"  said  Pomona,  turning  to  me,  u  h'isted 
me  out  of  the  canal-boat  winder." 

This,  by  the  way,  was  the  first  intimation  we  had 


Rudder  Grange. 


251 


had  that   Pomona  knew  how  she  came  to  fall  out  of 
that  window. 

u  But  I  didn't  do  it,"  she  continued,  "  for  there 
wasn't  no  soft  water  underneath  for  her  to  fall  into. 
After  we  went  to  bed  I  kep'  awake  for  a  long  time, 
bein'  afraid  she'd  get  up  in  the  night  an'  turn  on  all 
the  gases  and  smother  me  alive.  But  I  fell  asleep 
at  last,  an'  when  I  woke  up,  early  in  the  mornin', 
the  first  thing  I  did  was  to  feel  for  that  lunertic. 
But  she  was  gone ! " 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


In  which  an  Old  Friend  appears,  and  the  Bridal  Trip 
takes  a  Fresh  Start. 


ONE?"  cried  Euphemia,  who,  with 
myself,  had  been  listening  most  in- 
tently to  Pomona's  story. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Pomona,  "  she 
was  gone.  I  give  one  jump  out  of 
bed  and  felt  the  gases,  but  they  was  all  right.  But 
she  was  gone,  an'  her  clothes  was  gone.  I  dressed, 
as  pale  as  death,  I  do  expect,  an'  hurried  to  J one's 
room,  an'  he  an'  me  an'  the  big  man  was  all  ready 
in  no  time  to  go  an'  look  for  her.  General  Tom 
Thumb  didn't  seem  very  anxious,  but  we  made  him 
hurry  up  an'  come  along  with  us.  We  couldn't  afford 
to  leave  him  nowheres.  The  clerk  down-stairs — a 
different  one  from  the  chap  who  was  there  the  night 
before — said  that  a  middle-aged,  elderly  lady  came 


Rudder  Grange.  253 

down  about  an  hour  before  an'  asked  him  to  tell  her 
the  way  to  the  United  States  Bank,  an'  when  he 
told  her  he  didn't  know  of  any  such  bank,  she  jus' 
stared  at  him,  an'  wanted  to  know  what  he  was  put 
there  for.  So  he  didn't  have  no  more  to  say  to  her, 
an'  she  went  out,  an'  he  didn't  take  no  notice  which 
way  she  went.  We  had  the  same  opinion  about 
him  that  Mrs.  Jackson  had,  but  we  didn't  stop  to 
tell  him  so.  We  hunted  up  an'  down  the  streets 
for  an  hour  or  more  ;  we  asked  every  policeman  we 
met  if  he'd  seen  her ;  we  went  to  a  police  station  ; 
we  did  everything  we  could  think  of,  but  no  Mrs. 
Jackson  turned  up.  Then  we  was  so  tired  an'  hun- 
gry that  we  went  into  some  place  or  other  an'  got 
our  breakfast.  When  we  started  out  ag'in,  we  kep* 
on  up  one  street  an'  down  another,  an'  askin'  every- 
body who  looked  as  if  they  had  two  grains  of  sense, 
— which  most  of  'em  didn't  look  as  if  they  had  mor'n 
one,  an'  that  was  in  use  to  get  'em  to  where  they 
was  goin'.  At  last,  a  little  ways  down  a  small 
street,  we  seed  a  crowd,  an'  the  minute  we  see  it 
Jone  an'  me  both  said  in  our  inside  hearts :  '  There 
she  is  ! '  An*  sure  enough,  when  we  got  there,  who 
should  we  see,  with  a  ring  of  street-loafers  an'  boys 
around  her,  but  Mrs.  Andrew  Jackson,  with  her 
little  straw  hat  an'  her  green  carpet  slippers,  a- 
dancin'  some  kind  of  a  skippin'  fandango,  an'  a- 
holdin'  out  her  skirts  with  the  tips  of  her  fingers.  I 
was  jus'  agoin'  to  rush  in  an'  grab  her  when  a  man 


254  Rudder  Grange. 

walks  quick  into  the  ring  and  touches  her  on  the 
shoulder.  The  minute  I  seed  him  I  knowed  him. 
It  was  our  old  boarder. 

"  It  was  ?  "  exclaimed  Euphemia. 

"  Yes,  it  was  truly  him,  an'  I  didn't  want  him  to 
see  me  there  in  such  company,  an'  he  most  likely 
knowin'  I  was  on  my  bridal  trip,  an'  so  I  made  a 
dive  at  my  bonnet  to  see  if  I  had  a  vail  on  ;  an' 
findin'  one,  I  hauled  it  down. 

" '  Madam/  says  the  boarder,  very  respectful,  to 
Mrs.  Jackson,  'where  do  you  live?  Can't  I  take 
you  home  ?  '  '  No,  sir/  says  she,  '  at  least  not  now. 
If  you  have  a  carriage,  you  may  come  for  me  after 
a  while.  I  am  waiting  for  the  Bank  of  the  United 
States  to  open,  an'  until  which  time  I  must  support 
myself  on  the  light  fantastic  toe/  an'  then  she  tuk 
up  her  skirts,  an'  begun  to  dance  ag'in.  But  she 
didn't  make  mor'n  two  skips  before  I  rushed  in,  an' 
takin'  her  by  the  arm  hauled  her  out  o'  the  ring. 
An'  then  up  comes  the  big  man  with  his  face  as  red 
as  fire.  '  Look  here !  '  says  he  to  her,  as  if  he  was 
ready  to  eat  her  up.  *  Did  you  draw  every  cent  of 
that  money?'  'Not  yet,  not  yet/  says  she.  'You 
did,  you  purse-proud  cantalope/  says  he.  'You 
know  very  well  you  did,  an'  now  I'd  like  to  know 
where  my  ox-money  is  to  come  from.'  But  Jone 
an*  me  didn't  intend  to  wait  for  no  sich  talk  as  this, 
an*  he  tuk  the  man  by  the  arm,  an'  I  tuk  the  old 
woman,  an'  we  jus'  walked  'em  off.  The  boarder  he 


Rudder  Grange.  255 

told  the  loafers  to  get  out  an'  go  home,  an'  none  of 
'em  follered  us,  for  they  know'd  if  they  did  he'd  a 
batted  'em  over  the  head.  But  he  comes  up  along- 
side o'  me,  as  I  was  a'  walkin'  behind  with  Mrs. 
Jackson,  an'  says  he  :  '  How  d'ye  do,  Pomona?  '  I 
must  say  I  felt  as  if  I  could  slip  in  between  two  flag- 
stones, but  as  I  couldn't  get  away,  I  said  I  was 
pretty  well.  '  I  heared  you  was  on  your  bridal  trip/ 
says  he  ag'in  ;  '  is  this  it  ? '  It  was  jus'  like  him  to 
know  that,  an'  as  there  was  no  help  for  it,  I  said  it 
was.  *  Is  that  your  husband  ?  '  says  he,  pointin'  to 
Jone.  '  Yes,'  says  I.  'It  was  very  good  in  him  to 
come  along,'  says  he.  '  Is  these  two  your  grooms- 
man and  bridesmaid? '  '  No,  sir,'  says  I.  'They're 
crazy.'  *  No  wonder,'  says  he.  '  It's  enough  to 
drive  'em  so,  to  see  you  two,'  an'  then  he  went 
ahead  an'  shook  hands  with  Jone,  an'  told  him  he'd 
know'd  me  a  longtime;  but  he  didn't  say  nuthin' 
about  havin'  histed  me  out  of  a  winder,  for  which  I 
was  obliged  to  him.  An'  then  he  come  back  to  me 
an'  says  he,  '  Good-mornin',  I  must  go  to  my  office. 
I  hope  you'll  have  a  good  time  for  the  rest  of  your 
trip.  If  you  happen  to  run  short  o'  lunertics,  jus' 
let  me  know,  and  I'll  furnish  you  with  another  pair.' 
'  All  right,'  says  I ;  '  but  you  mustn't  bring  your  lit- 
tle girl  along.' 

"  He  kinder  laughed  at  this,  as  we  walked  away, 
an'  then  he  turned  around  an'  come  back,  an'  says 
he,  '  Have  you  been  to  any  the  ay  ters,  or  anything, 


256  Rudder  Grange. 

since  you've  been  in  town?'  'No,'  says  I,  'not 
one.'  '  Well,'  says  he,  *  you  ought  to  go.  Which  do 
you  like  best,  the  the  ay  ter,  the  cir  cus,  or  wild- 
beasts  ? '  I  did  really  like  the  the  ay  ter  best,  hav- 
in'  thought  of  bein'  a  play-actor,  as  you  know,  but  I 
considered  I'd  better  let  that  kind  o'  thing  slide  jus' 
now,  as  bein'  a  little  too  romantic,  right  after  the 
'sylum,  an'  so  I  says,  '  I've  been  once  to  a  circus, 
an'  once  to  a  wild-beast  garden,  an'  I  like  'em  both. 
.1  hardly  know  which  I  like  best — the  roarin'  beasts, 
aprancin'  about  in  their  cages,  with  the  smell  of 
blood  an'  hay,  an'  the  towerin'  elephants ;  or  the 
horses,  an'  the  music,  an'  the  gauzy  figgers  at  the 
circus,  an'  the  splendid  knights  in  armor  an'  flashin' 
pennants,  all  on  fiery  steeds,  a-plungin'  ag'in  the 
sides  of  the  ring,  with  their  flags  a-flyin'  in  the 
grand  entry,'  says  I,  real  excited  with  what  I  re- 
membered about  these  shows. 

" '  Well,'  says  he,  '  I  don't  wonder  at  your  feelin's. 
An'  now,  here's  two  tickets  for  to-night,  which  you 
an*  your  husband  can  have,  if  you  like,  for  I  can't 
go.  They're  to  a  meetin'  of  the  Hudson  County 
Enter  mo  logical  Society,  over  to  Hoboken,  at  eight 
o'clock.' 

"  '  Over  to  Hoboken  ! '  says  I  ;  '  that's  a  long 
way.' 

"  «  Oh  no,  it  isn't,'  says  he.  *  An'  it  won't  cost  you 
a  cent,  but  the  ferry.  They  couldn't  have  them 
shows  in  the  city,  for,  if  the  creatures  was  to  get 


Rudder  Grange.  257 

loose,  there's  no  knowin'  what  might  happen.  So 
take  'em,  an'  have  as  much  fun  as  you  can  for  the 
rest  of  your  trip.  Good-bye  ! '  An*  off  he  went. 

"  Well,  we  kep'  straight  on  to  the  doctor's,  an' 
glad  we  was  when  we  got  there,  an'  mad  he  was  when 
we  lef  Mrs.  Jackson  an'  the  General  on  his  hands, 
for  we  wouldn't  have  no  more  to  do  with  'em  an'  he 
couldn't  help  undertakin'  to  see  that  they  got  back 
to  the  'sylum.  I  thought  at  first  he  wouldn't  lift  a 
finger  to  get  us  our  trunk ;  but  he  cooled  down  after 
a  bit  an'  said  he  hoped  we'd  try  some  different  kind 
of  institution  for  the  rest  of  our  trip,  which  we  said 
we  thought  we  would. 

"  That  afternoon  we  gawked  around,  a-lookin'  at 
all  the  outside  shows,  for  Jone  said  he'd  have  to  be 
pretty  careful  of  his  money  now,  an'  he  was  glad 
when  I  told  him  I  had  two  free  tickets  in  my  pocket 
for  a  show  in  the  evenin'. 

"  As  we  was  a-walkin'  down  to  the  ferry,  after 
supper,  says  he : 

"'  Suppose  you  let  me  have  a  look  at  them  tickets.' 

"  So  I  hands  'em  to  him.  He  reads  one  of  'em, 
and  then  he  reads  the  other,  which  he  needn't  'a' 
done,  for  they  was  both  alike,  an'  then  he  turns  to 
me,  an'  says  he, 

"  *  What  kind  of  a  man  is  your  boarder-as-was  ? ' 

"  It  wasn't  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  to  say 
jus'  what  he  was,  but  I  give  Jone  the  idea,  in  a  gen- 
eral sort  of  way,  that  he  was  pretty  lively. 


258  Rudder  Grange. 

" '  So  I  should  think,'  says  he.  '  He's  been  tryin' 
a  trick  on  us,  an'  sendin'  us  to  the  wrong  place. 
It's  rather  late  in  the  season  for  a  show  of  the  kind, 
but  the  place  we  ought  to  go  to  is  a  potato-field.' 

"  '  What  on  earth  are  you  talkin'  about  ?  '  says  I, 
dumfoundered. 

"  '  Well,'  says  he,  '  It's  a  trick  he's  been  playin'. 
He  thought  a  bridal  trip  like  ours  ought  to  have 
some  sort  of  a  outlandish  wind-up,  an'  so  he  sent  us 
to  this  place,  which  is  a  meetin'  of  chaps  who  are 
agoin'  to  talk  about  insec's, — principally  potato-bugs, 
I  expec' — an'  anything  stupider  than  that,  I  s'pose 
your  boarder-as-was  couldn't  think  of,  without  havin' 
a  good  deal  o'  time  to  consider/ 

"  *  It's  jus'  like  him,'  says  I.  *  Let's  turn  round 
and  go  back,'  which  we  did,  prompt. 

"  We  gave  the  tickets  to  a  little  boy  who  was 
sellin'  papers,  but  I  don't  believe  he  went. 

" '  Now  then,'  says  Jone,  after  he'd  been  thinkin' 
awhile,  'there'll  be  no  more  foolin'  on  this  trip.  I've 
blocked  out  the  whole  of  the  rest  of  it,  an'  we'll  wind 
up  a  sight  better  than  that  boarder-as-was  has  any 
idea  of.  To-morrow  we'll  go  to  father's,  an'  if  the 
old  gentleman  has  got  any  money  on  the  crops, 
which  I  expec'  he  has,  by  this  time,  I'll  take  up  a 
part  o'  my  share,  an'  we'll  have  a  trip  to  Washington, 
an'  see  the  President,  and  Congress,  an'  the  White 
House,  an'— 

"  '  Don't  say  no  more,'  says  I,  '  it's  splendid  ! ' 


Rudder  Grange.  259 

"  So,  early  the  nex'  day,  we  goes  off  jus'  as  fast  as 
trains  would  take  us  to  his  father's,  an'  we  hadn't 
been  there  mor'n  ten  minutes,  before  Jone  found  out 
he  had  been  summoned  on  a  jury. 

"  '  When  must  you  go? 'says  I,  when  he  come 
lookin'a  kind  o'  pale,  to  tell  me  this. 

" '  Right  off,'  says  he.  *  The  court  meets  this 
mornin'.  If  I  don't  hurry  up  I'll  have  some  of  'em 
after  me.  But  I  wouldn't  cry  about  it.  I  don't  be- 
lieve the  case'll  last  more'n  a  day.' 

"  The  old  man  harnessed  up  an'  took  Jone  to  the 
court-house,  an'  I  went  too,  for  I  might  as  well  keep 
up  the  idea  of  a  bridal  trip  as  not.  I  went  up  into 
the  gallery,  and  Jone,  he  was  set  among  the  other 
men  in  the  jury-box. 

"  The  case  was  about  a  man  named  Brown,  who 
married  the  half-sister  of  a  man  named  Adams,  who 
afterward  married  Brown's  mother,  an'  sold  Brown 
a  house  he  had  got  from  Brown's  grandfather,  in 
trade  for  half  a  grist-mill,  which  the  other  half  of  was 
owned  by  Adams's  half-sister's  first  husband,  who 
left  all  his  property  to  a  soup  society,  in  trust,  till 
his  son  should  come  of  age,  which  he  never  did,  but 
left  a  will  which  give  his  half  of  the  mill  to  Brown, 
an'  the  suit  was  between  Brown  an'  Adams  an' 
Brown  again,  an'  Adams's  half-sister,  who  was  di- 
vorced from  Brown,  an'  a  man  named  Ramsey,  who 
had  put  up  a  new  over-shot  wheel  to  the  grist- 
mill." 


260  Rudder  Grange. 

11  Oh  my  !"  exclaimed  Euphemia.  "How  could 
you  remember  all  that  ?  " 

"  I  heard  it  so  often,  I  couldn't  help  remembering 
it,"  replied  Pomona.  And  she  went  on  with  her 
narrative. 

"  That  case  wasn't  a  easy  one  to  understand,  as 
you  may  see  for  yourselves,  an'  it  didn't  get  finished 
that  day.  They  argyed  over  it  a  full  week.  When 
there  wasn't  no  more  witnesses  to  carve  up,  one  law- 
yer made  a  speech,  an'  he  set  that  crooked  case  so 
straight,  that  you  could  see  through  it  from  the 
over-shot  wheel  clean  back  to  Brown's  grandfather. 
Then  another  lawyer  made  a  speech,  an'  he  set  the 
whole  thing  up  another  way.  It  was  jus'  as  clear, 
to  look  through,  but  it  was  another  case  altogether, 
no  more  like  the  other  one  than  a  apple-pie  is  like  a 
mug  o'  cider.  An'  then  they  both  took  it  up,  an' 
they  swung  it  around  between  them,  till  it  was  all 
twisted  an'  knotted  an'  wound  up  an'  tangled, 
worse  than  a  skein  o'  yarn  in  a  nest  o'  kittens,  an' 
then  they  give  it  to  the  jury. 

"  Well,  when  them  jurymen  went  out,  there 
wasn't  none  of  'em,  as  Jone  tole  me  afterward,  as 
knew  whether  it  was  Brown  or  Adams  as  was  dead, 
or  whether  the  mill  was  to  grind  soup,  or  to  be  run 
by  soup-power.  Of  course  they  couldn't  agree ; 
three  of  'em  wanted  to  give  a  verdict  for  the  boy 
that  died,  two  of  'em  was  for  Brown's  grandfather, 
an'  the  rest  was  scattered,  some  goin'  in  for  damages 


Rudder  Grange. 


261 


to  the  witnesses,  who  ought  to  get  somethin'  for 
havin'  their  char  ac  ters  ruined.  Jone  he  jus'  held 
back,  ready  to  jine  the  other  eleven  as  soon  as 
they'd  agree.  But  they  couldn't  do  it,  an'  they  was 
locked  up  three  days  and  four  nights.  You'd  better 
believe  I  got  pretty 
wild  about  it,  but  I 
come  to  court  every 
day  an'  waited  an' 
waited,  bringin' 
somethin'  to  eat  in 
a  baskit. 

"  One  day,  at  din- 
ner-time, I  seed  the 
judge  a-standin'  at 
the  court-room  door, 
a-wipin'  his  forrid 
with  a  hankerchief, 
an'  I  went  up  to  him 
an'  said :  '  Do  you 
think,  sir,  they'll  get 
through  this  thing 
soon  ?  ' 

"  '  I  can't  say,  indeed,'  said  he.  '  Are  you  inter- 
ested in  the  case  ?  ' 

"  '  I  should  think  I  was/  said  I,  an'  then  I  told 
him  about  Jone's  bein'  a  juryman,  an*  how  we  was 
on  our  bridal  trip. 

"  '  Ydu've   got  my   sympathy,  madam,'   says  he, 


262  Rudder  Grange. 

'but  it's  a  difficult  case  to  decide,  an'  I  don't  wonder 
it  takes  a  good  while.' 

"'Nor  I  nuther,'  says  I,  'an'  my  opinion  about 
these  things  is,  that  if  you'd  jus'  have  them  lawyers 
shut  up  in  another  room,  an'  make  'em  do  their 
talkin'  to  theirselves,  the  jury  could  keep  their 
minds  clear,  an'  settle  the  cases  in  no  time.' 

"'There's  some  sense  in  that,  madam,'  says  he, 
an'  then  he  went  into  court  ag'in. 

"  Jone  never  had  no  chance  to  jine  in  with  the 
other  fellers,  for  they  couldn't  agree,  an'  they  were 
all  discharged,  at  last.  So  the  whole  thing  went  for 
nuthin*. 

"  When  Jone  come  out,  he  looked  like  he'd  been 
drawn  through  a  pump-log,  an'  he  says  to  me,  tired- 
like: 

"  '  Has  there  been  a  frost  ? ' 

"'Yes,'  says  I,  'two  of  'em/ 

'"All  right,  then,'  says  he.  '  I've  had  enough  of 
bridal  trips,  with  their  dry  falls,  their  lunatic  asylums, 
and  their  jury-boxes.  Let's  go  home  and  settle 
down.  We  needn't  be  afraid,  now  that  there's  been 
a  frost.' " 

"  Oh,  why  will  you  live  in  such  a  dreadful  place  ?  " 
cried  Euphemia.  "  You  ought  to  go  somewhere 
where  you  needn't  be  afraid  of  chills." 

"That's  jus'  what  I  thought,  ma'am,"  returned 
Pomona.  "  But  Jone  an*  me  got  a  disease-map  of 
this  country  an'  we  looked  all  over  it  careful,  an' 

f 


Rudder  Grange. 


263 


wherever  there  wasn't  chills  there  was  somethin'  else 
that  seemed  a  good  deal  wuss  to  us.  An'  says  Jone, 
'If  I'm  to  have  anything  the  matter  with  me,  give 
me  somethin'  I'm  used  to.  It  don't  do  for  a  man 
o'  my  time  o'  life  to  go  changin'  his  diseases.' 

"  So  home  we  went.  An'  there  we  is  now.  An' 
as  this  is  the  end  of  the  bridal-trip  story,  I'll  go  an' 
take  a  look  at  the  cow  an'  the  chickens  an'  the  horse, 
if  you  don't  mind." 

Which  we  didn't, — and  we  gladly  went  with  her 
over  the  estate. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

In  which  we  take  a  Vacation  and  look  for  David 
Dutton. 


up 


T  was  about  noon  of  a  very  fair  July 
day,  in  the  next  summer,  when  Euphe- 
mia  and  myself  arrived  at   the   little 
town  where  we  were  to  take  the  stage 
into   the  mountains.     We  were    off    for   a  two 


weeks'  vacation  and  our  minds  were  a  good  deal 
easier  than  when,  we  went  away  before,  and  left 
Pomona  at  the  helm.  We  had  enlarged  the  boun- 
daries of  Rudder  Grange,  having  purchased  the 
house,  with  enough  adjoining  land  to  make  quite  a 
respectable  farm.  Of  course  I  could  not  attend  to 
the  manifold  duties  on  such  a  place,  and  my  wife 
seldom  had  a  happier  thought  than  when  she  pro- 
posed that  we  should  invite  Pomona  and  her  hus- 


Rudder  Grange.  265 

band  to  come  and  live  with  us.  Pomona  was  de- 
lighted, and  Jonas  was  quite  willing  to  manage  our 
farm.  So  arrangements  were  made,  and  the  young 
couple  were  established  in  apartments  in  our  back 
building,  and  went  to  work  as  if  taking  care  of  us 
and  our  possessions  was  the  ultimate  object  of  their 
lives.  Jonas  was  such  a  steady  fellow  that  we 
feared  no  trouble  from  tree-man  or  lightning-rodder 
during  this  absence. 

Our  destination  was  a  country  tavern  on  the  stage- 
road,  not  far  from  the  point  where  the  road  crosses 
the  ridge  of  the  mountain-range,  and  about  sixteen 
miles  from  the  town.  We  had  heard  of  this  tavern 
from  a  friend  of  ours,  who  had  spent  a  summer 
there.  The  surrounding  country  was  lovely,  and 
the  house  was  kept  by  a  farmer,  who  was  a  good 
soul,  and  tried  to  make  his  guests  happy.  These 
were  generally  passing  farmers  and  wagoners,  or 
stage -passengers,  stopping  for  a  meal,  but  occasion- 
ally a  person  from  the  cities,  like  our  friend,  came 
to  spend  a  few  weeks  in  the  mountains. 

So  hither  we  came,  for  an  out-of-the-world  spot 
like  this  was  just  what  we  wanted.  When  I  took 
our  places  at  the  stage-office,  I  inquired  for  David 
Button,  the  farmer  tavern  keeper  before  mentioned, 
but  the  agent  did  not  know  of  him. 

"  However,"  said  he,  "  the  driver  knows  every- 
body on  the  road,  and  he'll  set  you  down  at  the 
house." 

12 


266  Rudder   Grange. 

So,  off  we  started,  having  paid  for  our  tickets  on 
the  basis  that  we  were  to  ride  about  sixteen  miles. 
We  had  seats  on  top,  and  the  trip,  although  slow, 
— for  the  road  wound  uphill  steadily, — was  a  de- 
lightful one.  Our  way  lay,  for  the  greater  part  of 
the  time,  through  the  woods,  but  now  and  then  we 
came  to  a  farm,  and  a  turn  in  the  road  often  gave 
us  lovely  views  of  the  foot-hills  and  the  valleys  be- 
hind us. 

But  the  driver  did  not  know  where  Button's  tav- 
ern was.  This  we  found  out  after  we  had  started. 
Some  persons  might  have  thought  it  wiser  to  settle 
this  matter  before  starting,  but  I  am  not  at  all  sure 
that  it  would  have  been  so.  We  were  going  to  this 
tavern,  and  did  not  wish  to  go  anywhere  else.  If  peo- 
ple did  not  know  where  it  was,  it  would  be  well  for 
us  to  go  and  look  for  it.  We  knew  the  road  that  it 
was  on,  and  the  locality  in  which  it  was  to  be  found. 

Still,  it  was  somewhat  strange  that  a  stage-driver, 
passing  along  the  road  every  week-day, — one  day 
one  way,  and  the  next  the  other  way, — should  not 
know  a  public-house  like  Button's. 

"  If  I  remember  rightly,"  I  said,  "  the  stage  used 
to  stop  there  for  the  passengers  to  take  supper." 

"  Well,  then,  it  ain't  on  this  side  o'  the  ridge,"  said 
the  driver ;  "  we  stop  for  supper,  about  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  on  the  other  side,  at  Pete  Lowry's.  Perhaps 
Button  used  to  keep  that  place.  Was  it  called  the 
1  Ridge  House  ?  '  " 


Rudder  Grange.  267 

I  did  not  remember  the  name  of  the  house,  but  I  f 
knew  very  well  that  it  was  not  on  the  other  side  of 
the  ridge. 

"Then,"  said  the  driver,  "  I'm  sure  I  don't  know 
where  it  is.  But  I've  only  been  on  the  road  about 
a  year,  and  your  man  may  'a'  moved  away  afore  I 
come.  But  there  ain't  no  tavern  this  side  the  ridge, 
arter  ye  leave  Delhi,  and  that's  nowheres  nigh  the 
ridge." 

There  were  a  couple  of  farmers  who  were  sitting 
by  the  driver,  who  had  listened  with  considerable  in- 
terest to  this  conversation.  Presently,  one  of  them 
turned  around  to  me  and  said  : 

"  Is  it  Dave  Dutton  ye're  askin'  about  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  that's  his  name." 

II  Well,  I  think  he's  dead,"  said  he. 

At  this,  I  began  to  feel  uneasy,  and  I  could  see 
that  my  wife  shared  my  trouble. 

Then  the  other  farmer  spoke  up. 

"  I  don't  believe  he's  dead,  Hiram,"  said  he  to  his 
companion.  "  I  heered  of  him  this  spring.  He's 
got  a  sheep-farm  on  the  other  side  o'  the  mountain, 
an  he's  a-livin'  there.  That's  what  I  heered,  at  any 
rate.  But  he  don't  live  on  this  road  any  more,"  he 
continued,  turning  to  us.  "  He  used  to  keep  tav- 
ern on  this  road,  and  the  stages  did  use  to  stop 
fur  supper — or  else  dinner,  I  don't  jist  ree-collect 
which.  But  he  don't  keep  tavern  on  this  road  no 
more." 


268  Rudder  Grange. 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  his  companion,  "  if  he's 
a-livin'  over  the  mountain.  But  I  b'lieve  he  s 
dead." 

I  asked  the  other  farmer  if  he  knew  how  long  it 
had  been  since  Button  had  left  this  part  of  the 
country. 

"  I  don't  know  fur  certain,"  he  said,  "  but  I  know 
he  was  keepin'  tavern  here  two  year'  ago,  this  fall, 
fur  I  came  along  here,  myself,  and  stopped  there  to 
git  supper — or  dinner,  I  don't  jist  ree-collect  which." 

It  had  been  three  years  since  our  friend  had 
boarded  at  Dutton's  house.  There  was  no  doubt 
that  the  man  was  not  living  at  his  old  place  now. 
My  wife  and  I  now  agreed  that  it  was  very  foolish 
in  us  to  come  so  far  without  making  more  particular 
inquiries.  But  we  had  had  an  idea  that  a  man  who 
had  a  place  like  Dutton's  tavern  would  live  there 
always. 

"  What  are  ye  goin*  to  do  ?  "  asked  the  driver, 
very  much  interested,  for  it  was  not  every  day  that 
he  had  passengers  who  had  lost  their  destination. 
"Ye  might  go  on  to  Lowry's.  He  takes  boarders 
sometimes." 

But  Lowry's  did  not  attract  us.  An  ordinary 
country-tavern,  where  stage-passengers  took  supper, 
was  not  what  we  came  so  far  to  find. 

"  Do  you  know  where  this  house  o'  Dutton's  is  ?  " 
said  the  driver,  to  the  man  who  had  once  taken 
either  dinner  or  supper  there. 


Rudder  Grange.  269 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I'd  know  the  house  well  enough,  if  I 
saw  it.  It's  the  fust  house  this  side  o'  Lowry's." 

"  With  a  big  pole  in  front  of  it?"  asked  the 
driver. 

"  Yes,  there  was  a  sign-pole  in  front  of  it." 

"  An'  a  long  porch  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Oh !  well !  "  said  the  driver,  settling  himself  in 
his  seat.  "  I  know  all  about  that  house.  That's  a 
empty  house.  I  didn't  think  you  meant  that  house. 
There's  nobody  lives  there.  An'  yit,  now  I  come  to 
remember,  I  have  seen  people  about,  too.  I  tell  ye 
what  ye  better  do.  Since  ye're  so  set  on  staying  on 
this  side  the  ridge,  ye  better  let  me  put  ye  down  at 
Dan  Carson's  place.  That's  jist  about  quarter  of  a 
mile  from  where  Button  used  to  live.  Dan's  wife 
can  tell  ye  all  about  the  Duttons,  an'  about  every- 
body else,  too,  in  this  part  o'  the  country,  an'  if 
there  aint  nobody  livin'  at  the  old  tavern,  ye  can 
stay  all  night  at  Carson's,  an'  I'll  stop  an'  take  ye 
back,  to-morrow,  when  I  come  along." 

We  agreed  to  this  plan,  for  there  was  nothing  bet- 
ter to  be  done,  and,  late  in  the  afternoon,  we  were 
set  down  with  our  small  trunk — for  we  were  travel- 
ing under  light  weight — at  Dan  Carson's  door.  The 
stage-coach  was  rather  behind  time,  and  the  driver 
whipped  up  and  left  us  to  settle  our  own  affairs. 
He  called  back,  however,  that  he  would  keep  a  good 
lookout  for  us  to-morrow. 


270 


Rudder  Grange. 


Mrs.  Carson  soon  made  her  appearance,  and,  very 
naturally,  was  somewhat  surprised  to  see  visitors  with 
their  baggage,  standing  on  her  little  porch.  She  was 
a  plain,  coarsely  dressed  woman,  with  an  apron  full 
of  chips  and  kindling  wood,  and  a  fine  mind  for  de- 
tail, as  we  soon  discovered. 

"  Jist  so,"  said  she,  putting  down  the  chips,  and 


inviting  us  to  seats  on  a  bench.  "  Dave  Button's 
folks  is  all  moved  away.  Dave  has  a  good  farm  on 
the  other  side  o'  the  mountain,  an'  it  never  did  pay 
him  to  keep  that  tavern,  'specially  as  he  didn't  sell 
liquor.  When  he  went  away,  his  son  Al  come  there 
to  live  with  his  wife,  an'  the  old  man  left  a  good 
deal  o'  furniter  and  things  fur  him,  but  Al's  wife 


Rudder  Grange.  271 

aint  satisfied  here,  and,  though  they've  been  here, 
off  an'  on,  the  house  is  shet  up  most  o'  the  time. 
It's  fur  sale  an'  to  rent,  both,  ef  anybody  wants  it. 
I'm  sorry  about  you,  too,  fur  it  was  a  nice  tavern, 
when  Dave  kept  it." 

We  admitted  that  we  were  also  very  sorry,  and 
the  kind-hearted  woman  showed  a  great  deal  of 
sympathy. 

"  You  might  stay  here,  but  we  hain't  got  no  fit 
room  where  you  two  could  sleep." 

At  this,  Euphemia  and  I  looked  very  blank. 

"  But  you  could  go  up  to  the  house  and  stay,  jist 
as  well  as  not,"  Mrs.  Carson  continued.  "  There's 
plenty  o'  things  there,  an'  I  keep  the  key.  For  the 
matter  o'  that,  ye  might  take  the  house  for  as  long 
as  ye  want  to  stay ;  Dave'd  be  glad  enough  to  rent 
it  ;  and,  if  the  lady  knows  how  to  keep  house,  it 
wouldn't  be  no  trouble  at  all,  jist  for  you  two.  We 
could  let  ye  have  all  the  victuals  ye'd  want,  cheap, 
and  there's  plenty  o'  wood  there,  cut,  and  every- 
thing handy." 

We  looked  at  each  other.  We  agreed.  Here 
was  a  chance  for  a  rare  good  time.  It  might  be 
better,  perhaps,  than  anything  we  had  expected. 

The  bargain  was  struck.  Mrs.  Carson,  who 
seemed  vested  with  all  the  necessary  powers  of  at- 
torney, appeared  to  be  perfectly  satisfied  with  our 
trustworthiness,  and  when.  I  paid  on  the  spot  the 
small  sum  she  thought  proper  for  two  weeks'  rent, 


272  Rudder   Grange. 

she  evidently  considered  she  had  done  a  very  good 
thing  for  Dave  Button  and  herself. 

"  I'll  jist  put  some  bread,  an*  eggs,  an'  coffee,  an' 
pork,  an'  things  in  a  basket,  an'  I'll  have  'em  took 
up  fur  ye,  with  yer  trunk,  an'  I'll  go  with  ye  an' 
take  some  milk.  Here,  Danny  ! "  she  cried,  and 
directly  her  husband,  a  long,  thin,  sunburnt,  sandy- 
headed  man,  appeared,  and  to  him  she  told,  in  a  few 
words,  our  story,  and  ordered  him  to  hitch  up  the 
cart  and  be  ready  to  take  our  trunk  and  the  basket 
up  to  Dutton's  old  house. 

When  all  was  ready,  we  walked  up  the  hill,  fol- 
lowed by  Danny  and  the  cart.  We  found  the  house 
a  large,  low,  old-fashioned  farm-house,  standing  near 
the  road  with  a  long  piazza  in  front,  and  a  magnifi- 
cent view  of  mountain-tops  in  the  rear.  Within, 
the  lower  rooms  were  large  and  low,  with  quite  a 
good  deal  of  furniture  in  them.  There  was  no 
earthly  reason  why  we  should  not  be  perfectly  jolly 
and  comfortable  here.  The  more  we  saw,  the  more 
delighted  we  were  at  the  odd  experience  we  were 
about  to  have.  Mrs.  Carson  busied  herself  in  get- 
ting things  in  order  for  our  supper  and  general  ac- 
commodation. She  made  Danny  carry  our  trunk 
to  a  bedroom  in  the  second  story,  and  then  set  him 
to  work  building  a  fire  in  a  great  fire-place,  with  a 
crane  for  the  kettle. 

When  she  had  done  all  she  could,  it  was  nearly 
dark,  and  after  lighting  a  couple  of  candles,  she 


Rudder  Grange.  273 

left  us,  to  go  home  and  get  supper  for  her  own 
family. 

As  she  and  Danny  were  about  to  depart  in  the 
cart,  she  ran  back  to  ask  us  if  we  would  like  to  bor- 
row a  dog. 

"  There  ain't  nuthin'  to  be  afeard  of,"  she  said ; 
"  for  nobody  hardly  ever  takes  the  trouble  to  lock 
the  doors  in  these  parts,  but  bein'  city  folks,  I 
thought  ye  might  feel  better  if  ye  had  a  dog." 

We  made  haste  to  tell  her  that  we  were  not  city 
folks,  and  declined  the  dog.  Indeed,  Euphemia  re- 
marked that  she  would  be  much  more  afraid  of  a 
strange  dog  than  of  robbers. 

After  supper,  which  we  enjoyed  as  much  as  any 
meal  we  ever  ate  in  our  lives,  we  each  took  a  candle, 
and  explored  the  old  house.  There  were  lots  of 
curious  things  everywhere, — things  that  were  ap- 
parently so  "  old  timey,"  as  my  wife  remarked,  that 
David  Dutton  did  not  care  to  take  them  with  him 
to  his  new  farm,  and  so  left  them  for  his  son,  who 
probably  cared  for  them  even  less  than  his  father 
did.  There  was  a  garret  extending  over  the  whole 
house,  and  filled  with  old  spinning-wheels,  and 
strings  of  onions,  and  all  sorts  of  antiquated  bric-a- 
brac,  which  was  so  fascinating  to  me  that  I  could 
scarcely  tear  myself  away  from  it ;  but  Euphemia, 
who  was  dreadfully  afraid  that  I  would  set  the 
whole  place  on  fire,  at  length  prevailed  on  me  to 
come  down. 


274  Riidder  Grange. 

We  slept  soundly  that  night,  in  what  was  proba- 
bly the  best  bedroom  of  the  house,  and  awoke  with 
a  feeling  that  we  were  about  to  enter  on  a  period  of 
some  uncommon  kind  of  jollity,  which  we  found  to 
be  true  when  we  went  down  to  get  breakfast.  I 
made  the  fire,  Euphemia  made  the  coffee,  and  Mrs. 
Carson  came  with  cream  and  some  fresh  eggs.  The 
good  woman  was  in  high  spirits.  She  was  evidently 
pleased  at  the  idea  of  having  neighbors,  temporary 
though  they  were,  and  it  had  probably  been  a  long 
time  since  she  had  had  such  a  chance  of  selling  milk, 
eggs  and  sundries.  It  was  almost  the  same  as  open- 
ing a  country  store.  We  bought  groceries  and 
everything  of  her. 

We  had  a  glorious  time  that  day.  We  were  just 
starting  out  for  a  mountain  stroll  when  our  stage- 
driver  came  along  on  his  down  trip. 

"  Hello  ! "  he  called  out.  "  Want  to  go  back  this 
morning?  " 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  I  cried.  "We  wont  go  back 
for  a  couple  of  weeks.  We've  settled  here  for  the 
present." 

The  man  smiled.  He  didn't  seem  to  understand 
it  exactly,  but  he  was  evidently  glad  to  see  us  so 
well  pleased.  If  he  had  had  time  to  stop  and  have 
the  matter  explained  to  him,  he  would  probably 
have  been  better  satisfied  ;  but  as  it  was,  he  waved 
his  whip  to  us  and  drove  on.  He  was  a  good 
fellow. 


Rudder  Grange.  275 

We  strolled  all  day,  having  locked  up  the  house 
and  taken  our  lunch  with  us ;  and  when  we  came 
back,  it  seemed  really  like  coming  home.  Mrs.  Car- 
son with  whom  we  had  left  the  key,  had  brought  the 
milk  and  was  making  the  fire.  This  woman  was  too 
kind.  We  determined  to  try  and  repay  her  in  some 
way.  After  an  excellent  supper  we  went  to  bed 
happy. 

The  next  day  was  a  repetition  of  this  one,  but 
the  day  after  it  rained.  So  we  determined  to  enjoy 
the  old  tavern,  and  we  rummaged  about  every- 
where. I  visited  the  garret  again,  and  we  went  to 
the  old  barn,  with  its  mows  half  full  of  hay,  and  had 
rare  times  climbing  about  there.  We  were  delighted 
that  it  happened  to  rain.  In  a  wood-shed,  near  the 
house,  I  saw  a  big  square  board  with  letters  on  it. 
I  examined  the  board,  and  found  it  was  a  sign, — a 
hanging  sign, — and  on  it  was  painted  in  letters  that 
were  yet  quite  plain  : 

"  FARMERS' 

AND 

MECHANICS 
HOTEL." 

I  called  to  Euphemia  and  told  her  that  I  had 
found  the  old  tavern  sign.  She  came  to  look  at  it, 
and  I  pulled  it  out. 

"  Soldiers  and  sailors  !  "  she  exclaimed  ;  "  that's 
funny." 


276  Rudder   Grange. 

I  looked  over  on  her  side  of  the  sign,  and,  sure 
enough,  there  was  the  inscription  : 

"SOLDIERS' 

AND 

SAILORS  ' 
HOUSE." 

"  They  must  have  bought  this  comprehensive  sign 
in  some  town,"  I  said.  "  Such  a  name  would  never 
have  been  chosen  for  a  country  tavern  like  this. 
But  I  wish  they  hadn't  taken  it  down.  The  house 
would  look  more  like  what  it  ought  to  be  with  its 
sign  hanging  before  it." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Euphemia,  "  let  us  put  it  up." 

I  agreed  instantly  to  this  proposition,  and  we  went 
to  look  for  a  ladder.  We  found  one  in  the  wagon- 
house,  and  carried  it  out  to  the  sign-post  in  the  front 
of  the  house.  It  was  raining,  gently,  during  these 
performances,  but  we  had  on  our  old  clothes,  and 
were  so  much  interested  in  our  work  that  we  did  not 
care  for  a  little  rain.  I  carried  the  sign  to  the  post, 
and  then,  at  the  imminent  risk  of  breaking  my  neck, 
I  hung  it  on  its  appropriate  hooks  on  the  transverse 
beam  of  the  sign-post.  Now  our  tavern  was  really 
what  it  pretended  to  be.  We  gazed  on  the  sign 
with  admiration  and  content. 

"  Do  you  think  we  had  better  keep  it  up  all  the 
time?"  I  asked  of  my  wife. 


Rudder   Grange.  277 

"  Certainly,"  said  she.  "  It's  a  part  of  the  house. 
The  place  isn't  complete  without  it." 

"  But  suppose  some  one  should  come  along  and 
want  to  be  entertained  ?  " 

"  But  no  one  will.  And  if  people  do  come,  I'll 
take  care  of  the  soldiers  and  sailors,  if  you  will  attend 
to  the  farmers  and  mechanics." 

I  consented  to  this,  and  we  went  in-doors  to  pre- 
pare dinner. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 
Our  Tavern. 


HE  next  day  was  clear  again,  and  we 
rambled  in  the  woods  until  the  sun  was 
nearly  down,  and  so  were  late  about 
supper.  We  were  just  taking  our  seats 
at  the  table  when  we  heard  a  footstep  on  the  front 
porch.  Instantly  the  same  thought  came  into  each 
of  our  minds. 

"  I  do  believe,"  said  Euphemia,  "  that's  some- 
body who  has  mistaken  this  for  a  tavern.  I  wonder 
whether  it's  a  soldier  or  a  farmer  or  a  sailor ;  but  you 
must  go  and  see." 

I  went  to  see,  prompted  to  move  quickly  by  the 
new-comer  pounding  his  cane  on  the  bare  floor  of 
the  hall.  I  found  him  standing  just  inside  of  the 
front  door.  He  was  a  small  man,  with  long  hair  and 
beard,  and  dressed  in  a  suit  of  clothes  of  a  remark- 
able color, — something  of  the  hue  of  faded  snuff. 


Rudder  Grange.  2  79 

He  had  a  big  stick,  and  carried  a  large  flat  valise  in 
one  hand. 

He  bowed  to  me  very  politely. 

"  Can  I  stop  here  to-night  ?  "  he  asked,  taking  off 
his  hat,  as  my  wife  put  her  head  out  of  the  kitchen 
door. 

"Why,— no,  sir,"  I  said.     "This  is  not  a  tavern." 

"  Not  a  tavern  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  don't  under- 
stand that.  You  have  a  sign  out." 

"  That  is  true,"  I  said  ;  "  but  that  is  only  for  fun, 
so  to  speak.  We  are  here  temporarily,  and  we  put 
up  that  sign  just  to  please  ourselves." 

"  That  is  pretty  poor  fun  for  me,"  said  the  man. 
"  I  am  very  tired,  and  more  hungry  than  tired. 
Couldn't  you  let  me  have  a  little  supper  at  any 
rate?" 

Euphemia  glanced  at  me.     I  nodded. 

"  You  are  welcome  to  some  supper,"  she  said. 
"  Come  in !  We  eat  in  the  kitchen  because  it  is 
more  convenient,  and  because  it  is  so  much  more 
cheerful  than  the  dining-room.  There  is  a  pump 
out  there,  and  here  is  a  towel,  if  you  would  like  to 
wash  your  hands." 

As  the  man  went  out  the  back  door  I  compli- 
mented my  wife.  She  was  really  an  admirable 
hostess. 

The  individual  in  faded  snuff-color  was  certainly 
hungry,  and  he  seemed  to  enjoy  his  supper.  During 
the  meal  he  gave  us  some  account  of  himself.  He 


280  Rudder  Grange. 

was  an  artist  and  had  traveled,  mostly  on  foot  it  would 
appear,  over  a  great  part  of  the  country.  He  had  in 
his  valise  some  very  pretty  little  colored  sketches 
of  scenes  in  Mexico  and  California,  which  he  showed 
us  after  supper.  Why  he  carried  these  pictures — 
which  were  done  on  stiff  paper — about  with  him  I  do 
not  know.  He  said  he  did  not  care  to  sell  them,  as 
he  might  use  them  for  studies  for  larger  pictures 
some  day.  His  valise,  which  he  opened  wide  on  the 
table,  seemed  to  be  filled  with  papers,  drawings,  and 
matters  of  that  kind.  I  suppose  he  preferred  to 
wear  his  clothes,  instead  of  carrying  them  about  in 
his  valise. 

After  sitting  for  half  an  hour  after  supper,  he  rose, 
with  an  uncertain  sort  of  smile,  and  said  he  supposed 
he  must  be  moving  on, — asking,  at  the  same  time, 
how  far  it  was  to  the  tavern  over  the  ridge. 

"  Just  wait  one  moment,  if  you  please,"  said  Eu- 
phemia.  And  she  beckoned  me  out  of  the  room. 

"  Don't  you  think,"  said  she,  "  that  we  could  keep 
him  all  night  ?  There's  no  moon,  and  it  would  be  a 
fearfully  dark  walk,  I  know,  to  the  other  side  of  the 
mountain.  There  is  a  room  upstairs  that  I  can  get 
ready  for  him  in  ten  minutes,  and  I  know  he's 
honest." 

"  How  do  you  know  it?  "  I  asked. 

"  Well,  because  he  wears  such  curious-colored 
clothes.  No  criminal  would  ever  wear  such  clothes. 
He  could  never  pass  unnoticed  anywhere;  and  being 


Rudder  Grange.  281 

probably  the  only  person  in  the  world  who  dressed 
that  way,  he  could  always  be  detected." 

"  You  are  doubtless  correct,"  I  replied.  "  Let  us 
keep  him." 

When  we  told  the  good  man  that  he  could  stay 
all  night,  he  was  extremely  obliged  to  us,  and  went 
to  bed  quite  early.  After  we  had  fastened  the 
house  and  had  gone  to  our  room,  my  wife  said  to  me, 

"  Where  is  your  pistol?  " 

I  produced  it. 

"  Well,"  said  she,  "  I  think  you  ought  to  have  it 
where  you  can  get  at  it." 

"  Why  so  ?  "  I  asked.  "  You  generally  want  me 
to  keep  it  out  of  sight  and  reach." 

"  Yes  ;  but  when  there  is  a  strange  man  in  the 
house  we  ought  to  take  extra  precautions." 

"  But  this  man  you  say  is  honest,"  I  replied.  "  If 
he  committed  a  crime  he  could  not  escape, — his  ap- 
pearance is  so  peculiar." 

"  But  that  wouldn't  do  us  any  good,  if  we  were 
both  murdered,"  said  Euphemia,  pulling  a  chair  up 
to  my  side  of  the  bed,  and  laying  the  pistol  care- 
fully thereon,  with  the  muzzle  toward  the  bed. 

We  were  not  murdered,  and  we  had  a  very  pleas- 
ant breakfast  with  the  artist,  who  told  us  more 
anecdotes  of  his  life  in  Mexico  and  other  places. 
When,  after  breakfast,  he  shut  up  his  valise,  pre- 
paratory to  starting  away,  we  felt  really  sorry. 
When  he  was  ready  to  go,  he  asked  for  his  bill. 


282  Rudder  Grange. 

"  Oh  !  There  is  no  bill,"  I  exclaimed.  "  We  have 
no  idea  of  charging  you  anything.  We  don't  really 
keep  a  hotel,  as  I  told  you." 

"  If  I  had  known  that,"  said  he,  looking  very 
grave,  "  I  would  not  have  stayed.  There  is  no 
reason  why  you  should  give  me  food  and  lodgings, 
and  I  would  not,  and  did  not,  ask  it.  I  am  able  to 
pay  for  such  things,  and  I  wish  to  do  so." 

We  argued  with  him  for  some  time,  speaking  of 
the  habits  of  country  people  and  so  on,  but  he  would 
not  be  convinced.  He  had  asked  for  accommoda- 
tion expecting  to  pay  for  it,  and  would  not  be  con- 
tent until  he  had  done  so. 

"  Well,"  said  Euphemia,  "  we  are  not  keeping 
this  house  for  profit,  and  you  can't  force  us  to  make 
anything  out  of  you.  If  you  will  be  satisfied  to 
pay  us  just  what  it  cost  us  to  entertain  you,  I  sup- 
pose we  shall  have  to  let  you  do  that.  Take  a  seat 
for  a  minute,  and  I  will  make  out  your  bill." 

So  the  artist  and  I  sat  down  and  talked  of  various 
matters,  while  my  wife  got  out  her  traveling  station- 
ery-box, and  sat  down  to  the  dining-table  to  make 
out  the  bill.  After  a  long,  long  time,  as  it  appeared 
to  me,  I  said: 

"  My  dear,  if  the  amount  of  that  bill  is  at  all  pro- 
portioned to  the  length  of  time  it  takes  to  make  it 
out,  I  think  our  friend  here  will  wish  he  had  never 
said  anything  about  it." 

"  It's  nearly  done,"  said  she,  without  raising  her 


Rudder  Grange.  283 

head,  and,  in  about  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  more,  she 
rose  and  presented  the  bill  to  our  guest.  As  I 
noticed  that  he  seemed  somewhat  surprised  at  it,  I 
asked  him  to  let  me  look  over  it  with  him. 

The  bill,  of  which  I  have  a  copy,  read  as  follows  : 

July  1  2th,  187  — 
ARTIST, 

To  the  S.  and  S.  Hotel  and  F.  and  M.  House. 
To  i  one  supper,  July  nth,  which  supper  consisted  of: 
^  Ib.  coffee,  at  35cts  ......................     2^  cts. 

"    "    sugar,     "  14  "  ......................      I       " 

i  qt.  milk,       "    6"  ......................     I      " 

i  loaf  bread    "    6  "  .....................       3      " 

i  Ib.  butter     "25"  ......................     3^    " 

4  "  bacon        "25''  ......................    124     " 

-•rV  pk.  potatoes  at  60  cts.  per  bush  ..........       il  " 

5  pt.  hominy  at  6  cts  ......................      3       " 


£  of  total  ............  09^8  cts. 

To  £  one  breakfast,  July  1  2th  (same  as  above,  with 
exception  of  eggs  instead  of  bacon,  and  with 
hominy  omitted), 

24* 
i  total  ..............  08  4^  " 

To  rent  of  one  room  and  furniture,  for  one  night,  in  fur- 
nished house  of  fifteen  rooms  at  $6.00  per  week  for 
whole  house  .....................................  05!  '  ' 

Amount  due  ............  22^f  cts. 

The  worthy  artist   burst  out   laughing  when  he 
read  this  bill,  and  so  did  I. 

"  You  needn't  laugh,"  said  Euphemia,  reddening 


284  Rudder  Grange. 

a  little.  "  That  is  exactly  what  your  entertainment 
cost,  and  we  do  not  intend  to  take  a  cent  more. 
We  get  things  here  in  such  small  quantities  that  I 
can  tell  quite  easily  what  a  meal  costs  us,  and  I 
have  calculated  that  bill  very  carefully." 

"  So  I  should  think,  madam,"  said  the  artist, 
"  but  it  is  not  quite  right.  You  have  charged  noth- 
ing for  your  trouble  and  services." 

"No,"  said  my  wife,  "for  I  took  no  additional 
trouble  to  get  your  meals.  What  I  did,  I  should 
have  done  if  you  had  not  come.  To  be  sure  I  did 
spend  a  few  minutes  preparing  your  room.  I  will 
charge  you  seven  twenty-fourths  of  a  cent  for  that, 
thus  making  your  bill  twenty-three  cents — even 
money." 

"  I  cannot  gainsay  reasoning  like  yours,  madam, '? 
he  said,  and  he  took  a  quarter  of  a  dollar  from  a 
very  fat  old  pocket-book,  and  handed  it  to  her. 
She  gravely  gave  him  two  cents  change,  and  then 
taking  the  bill,  receipted  it,  and  handed  it  back  to 
him. 

We  were  sorry  to  part  with  our  guest,  for  he  was 
evidently  a  good  fellow.  I  walked  with  him  a  short 
distance  up  the  road,  and  got  him  to  let  me  copy 
his  bill  in  my  memorandum-book.  The  original,  he 
said,  he  would  always  keep. 

A  day  or  two  after  the  artist's  departure,  we  were 
standing  on  the  front  piazza.  We  had  had  a  late 
breakfast — consequent  upon  a  long  tramp  the  after- 


Rudder  Grange.  285 

noon  before — and  had  come  out  to  see  what  sort  of 
a  day  it  was  likely  to  be.  We  had  hardly  made  up 
our  minds  on  the  subject  when  the  morning  stage- 
coach came  up  at  full  speed  and  stopped  at  our  gate. 

"  Hello!"  cried  the  driver.  He  was  not  our 
driver.  He  was  a  tall  man  in  high  boots,  and  had  a 
great  reputation  as  a  manager  of  horses — so  Danny 
Carson  told  me  afterward.  There  were  two  drivers 
on  the  line,  and  each  of  them  made  one  trip  a  day, 
going  up  one  day  in  the  afternoon,  and  down  the 
next  day  in  the  morning. 

I  went  out  to  see  what  this  driver  wanted. 

"  Can't  you  give  my  passengers  breakfast  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Why,  no !  "  I  exclaimed,  looking  at  the  stage 
loaded  inside  and  out.  "  This  isn't  a  tavern.  We 
couldn't  get  breakfast  for  a  stage-load  of  people." 

"  What  have  you  got  up  a  sign  fur,  then?  "  roared 
the  driver,  getting  red  in  the  face. 

"  That's  so,"  cried  two  or  three  men  from  the  top 
of  the  coach.  "  If  it  ain't  a  tavern,  what's  that  sign 
doin'  there?" 

I  saw  I  must  do  something.  I  stepped  up  close 
to  the  vehicle  and  looked  in. 

"  Are  there  any  sailors  in  this  coach  ? "  I  said. 
There  was  no  response.  "  Any  soldiers  ?  Any 
farmers  or  mechanics  ?  " 

At  the  latter  question  I  trembled,  but  fortunately 
no  one  answered. 


286  Rudder  Grange. 

"  Then,"  said  I,  "  you  have  no  right  to  ask  to  be 
accomodated  ;  for,  as  you  may  see  from  the  sign, 
our  house  is  only  for  soldiers,  sailors,  farmers  and 
mechanics." 

"  And  besides,"  cried  Euphemia  from  the  piazza, 
"  we  haven't  anything  to  give  you  for  breakfast." 

The  people  in  and  on  the  stage-coach  grumbled  a 
good  deal  at  this,  and  looked  as  if  they  were  both 
disappointed  and  hungry,  while  the  driver  ripped 
out  an  oath,  which,  had  he  thrown  it  across  a  creek, 
would  soon  have  made  a  good-sized  mill-pond. 

He  gathered  up  his  reins  and  turned  a  sinister 
look  on  me. 

"I'll  be  even  with  you,yit,"  he  cried  as  he  dashed 
off. 

In  the  afternoon  Mrs.  Carson  came  up  and  told 
us  that  the  coach  had  stopped  there,  and  that  she 
had  managed  to  give  the  passengers  some  coffee, 
bread  and  butter  and  ham  and  eggs,  though  they 
had  had  to  wait  their  turns  for  cups  and  plates.  It 
appeared  that  the  driver  had  quarreled  with  the 
Lowry  people  that  morning  because  the  breakfast 
was  behindhand  and  he  was 'kept  waiting.  So  he 
told  his  passengers  that  there  was  another  tavern, 
a  few  miles  down  the  road,  and  that  he  would  take 
them  there  to  breakfast. 

"  He's  an  awful  ugly  man,  that  he  is,"  said  Mrs. 
Carson,  "  an'  he'd  better  'a'  stayed  at  Lowry 's,  fur 
he  had  to  wait  a  good  sight  longer,  after  all,  as  it 


Rudder  Grange.  287 

turned  out.  But  he's  dreadful  mad  at  you,  an*  says 
he'll  bring  ye  farmers,  an'  soldiers,  and  sailors,  an* 
mechanics,  if  that's  what  ye  want.  I  'spect  he'll  do 
his  best  to  git  a  load  o'  them  particular  people  an' 
drop  'em  at  yer  door.  I'd  take  down  that  sign,  ef  I 
was  you.  Not  that  me  an'  Danny  minds,  fur  we're 
glad  to  git  a  stage  to  feed,  an'  ef  you've  any  single 
man  that  wants  lodgin'  we've  fixed  up  a  room  and 
kin  keep  him  overnight." 

Notwithstanding  this  warning,  Euphemia  and  I 
decided  not  to  take  in  our  sign.  We  were  not  to 
be  frightened  by  a  stage-driver.  The  next  day  our 
own  driver  passed  us  on  the  road  as  he  was  going 
down. 

"  So  ye're  pertickler  about  the  people  ye  take  in, 
are  ye  ?  "  said  he,  smiling.  "  That's  all  right,  but  ye 
made  Bill  awful  mad." 

It  was  quite  late  on  a  Monday  afternoon  that 
Bill  stopped  at  our  house  again.  He  did  not  call 
out  this  time.  He  simply  drew  up,  and  a  man  with 
a  big  black  valise  clambered  down  from  the  top  of 
the  stage.  Then  Bill  shouted  to  me  as  I  walked 
down  to  the  gate,  looking  rather  angry,  I  sup- 
pose : 

"  I  was  agoin'  to  git  ye  a  whole  stage-load,  to  stay 
all  night,  but  that  one'll  do  ye,  I  reckon.  Ha,  ha  !  " 

And  off  he  went,  probably  fearing  that  I  would 
throw  his  passenger  up  again  on  the  top  of  the 
coach. 


288  Rudder   Grange. 

The  new-comer  entered  the  gate.  He  was  a  dark 
man,  with  black  hair  and  black  whiskers  and  mus- 
tache, and  black  eyes.  He  wore  clothes  that  had 
been  black,  but  which  were  now  toned  down  by  a 
good  deal  of  dust,  and,  as  I  have  said,  he  carried  a 
black  valise. 

"  Why  did  you  stop  here  ?  "  said  I,  rather  inhos- 
pitably. "  Don't  you  know  that  we  do  not  accomo- 
date- 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  he  said,  walking  up  on  the  piazza 
and  setting  down  his  valise,  "  that  you  only  take 
soldiers,  sailors,  farmers  and  mechanics  at  this  house. 
I  have  been  told  all  about  it,  and  if  I  had  not  thor- 
oughly understood  the  matter  I  should  not  have 
thought  of  such  a  thing  as  stopping  here.  If  you 
will  sit  down  for  a  few  moments  I  will  explain." 
Saying  this,  he  took  a  seat  on  a  bench  by  the  door, 
but  Euphemia  and  I  continued  to  stand. 

"  I  am,"  he  continued,  "  a  soldier,  a  sailor,  a 
farmer,  and  a  mechanic.  Do  not  doubt  my  word  ; 
I  will  prove  it  to  you  in-  two  minutes.  When  but 
seventeen  years  of  age,  circumstances  compelled  me 
to  take  charge  of  a  farm  in  New  Hampshire,  and  I 
stayed  on  that  farm  until  I  was  twenty-five.  During 
this  time  I  built  several  barns,  wagon-houses,  and 
edifices  of  the  sort  on  my  place,  and,  becoming  ex- 
pert in  this  branch  of  mechanical  art,  I  was  much 
sought  after  by  the  neighboring  farmers,  who  em- 
ployed me  to  do  similar  work  for  them.  In  time  I 


Rudder  Grange.  289 

found  this  new  business  so  profitable  that  I  gave 
up  farming  altogether.  But  certain  unfortunate 
speculations  threw  me  on  my  back,  and  finally, 
having  gone  from  bad  to  worse,  I  found  myself  in 
Boston,  where,  in  sheer  desperation,  I  went  on 
board  a  coasting  vessel  as  landsman.  I  remained 
on  this  vessel  for  nearly  a  year,  but  it  did  not  suit 
me.  I  was  often  sick,  and  did  not  like  the  work. 
I  left  the  vessel  at  one  of  the  Southern  ports,  and 
it  was  not  long  after  she  sailed  that,  finding  myself 
utterly  without  means,  I  enlisted  as  a  soldier.  I 
remained  in  the  army  for  some  years,  and  was 
finally  honorably  discharged.  So  you  see  that 
what  I  said  was  true.  I  belong  to  each  and  all  of 
these  businesses  and  professions.  And  now  that  I 
have  satisfied  you  on  this  point,  let  me  show  you  a 
book  for  which  I  have  the  agency  in  this  country." 
He  stooped  down,  opened  his  valise,  and  took  out 
a  good-sized  volume.  "  This  book,"  said  he,  "  is 
the  'Flora  and  Fauna  of  Carthage  County ;'  it  is 
written  by  one  of  the  first  scientific  men  of  the 
country,  and  gives  you  a  description,  with  an  au- 
thentic wood-cut,  of  each  of  the  plants  and  animals 
of  the  country — indigenous  or  naturalized.  Owing 
to  peculiar  advantages  enjoyed  by  our  firm,  we  are 
enabled  to  put  this  book  at  the  very  low  price  of 
three  dollars  and  seventy-five  cents.  It  is  sold  by 
subscription  only,  and  should  be  on  the  center- 
table  in  every  parlor  in  this  county.  If  you  will 
13 


290  Rudder  Grange. 

glance   over  this  book,  sir,  you  will  find  it  as  in 
teresting  as  a  novel,  and  as  useful  as  an  encyclo- 
paedia  " 

"  I  don't  want  the  book,"  I  said,  "  and  I  don't  care 
to  look  at  it." 

"  But  if  you  were  to  look  at  it  you  would  want  it, 
I'm  sure." 

"  That's  a  good  reason  for  not  looking  at  it,  then," 
I  answered.  "  If  you  came  to  get  us  to  subscribe 
for  that  book  we  need  not  take  up  any  more  of  your 
time,  for  we  shall  not  subscribe." 

"  Oh,  I  did  not  come  for  that  alone,"  he  said.  "  I 
shall  stay  here  to-night  and  start  out  in  the  morning 
to  work  up  the  neighborhood.  If  you  would  like 
this  book — and  I'm  sure  you  have  only  to  look  at  it 
to  do  that — you  can  deduct  the  amount  of  my  bill 
from  the  subscription  price,  and " 

"  What  did  you  say  you  ask  for  this  book  ?  "  asked 
Euphemia,  stepping  forward  and  picking  up  the 
volume. 

"  Three  seventy  five  is  the  subscription  price, 
ma'am,  but  that  book  is  not  for  sale.  That  is 
merely  a  sample.  If  you  put  your  name  down  on 
my  list  you  will  be  served  with  your  book  in  two 
weeks.  As  I  told  your  husband,  it  will  come  very 
cheap  to  you,  because  you  can  deduct  what  you 
charge  me  for  supper,  lodging,  and  breakfast." 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  my  wife,  and  then  she  remarked 
that  she  must  go  in  the  house  and  get  supper. 


Rudder  Grange.  291 

"When  will  supper  be  ready?"  the  man  asked,  as 
she  passed  him. 

At  first  she  did  not  answer  him,  but  then  she 
called  back: 

"  In  about  half  an  hour." 

"  Good,"  said  the  man  ;  "  but  I  wish  it  was  ready 
at  this  moment.  And  now,  sir,  if  you  would  just 
glance  over  this  book,  while  we  are  waiting  for  sup- 
per " 

I  cut  him  very  short  and  went  out  into  the  road. 
I  walked  up  and  down  in  front  of  the  house,  in  a  bad 
humor.  I  could  not  bear  to  think  of  my  wife  get- 
ting supper  for  this  fellow,  who  was  striding  about 
on  the  piazza,  as  if  he  were  very  hungry  and  very  im- 
patient. Just  as  I  returned  to  the  house,  the  bell 
rang  from  within. 

"  Joyful  sound  !  "  said  the  man,  and  in  he  marched. 
I  followed  close  behind  him.  On  one  end  of  the 
table,  in  the  kitchen,  supper  was  set  for  one  person, 
and,  as  the  man  entered,  Euphemia  motioned  him 
to  the  table.  The  supper  looked  like  a  remarkably 
good  one.  A  cup  of  coffee  smoked  by  the  side  of 
the  plate ;  there  was  ham  and  eggs  and  a  small 
omelette ;  there  were  fried  potatoes,  some  fresh  rad- 
ishes, a  plate  of  hot  biscuit,  and  some  preserves. 
The  man's  eyes  sparkled. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  he,  "  that  I  am  to  eat  alone, 
for  I  hoped  to  have  your  good  company  ;  but,  if  this 
plan  suits  you,  it  suits  me,"  and  he  drew  up  a  chair. 


292 


Rudder  Grange. 


"  Stop  !  "  said  Euphemia,  advancing  between  him 
and  the  table.  "  You  are  not  to  eat  that.  This  is 
a  sample  supper.  If  you  order  a  supper  like  it, 
one  will  be  served  to  you  in  two  weeks." 


At  this  I  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter ;  my  wife 
stood  pale  and  determined,  and  the  man  drew 
back,  looking  first  at  one  of  us,  and  then  at  the 
other. 

"  Am  I  to  understand ?  "  he  said. 


Rudder  Grange.  293 

"  Yes,"  I  interrupted,  "  you  are.  There  is  nothing 
more  to  be  said  on  this  subject.  You  may  go  now. 
You  came  here  to  annoy  us,  knowing  that  we  did 
not  entertain  travelers,  and  now  you  see  what  you 
have  made  by  it,"  and  I  opened  the  door. 

The  man  evidently  thought  that  a  reply  was  not 
necessary,  and  he  walked  out  without  a  word.  Tak- 
ing up  his  valise,  which  he  had  put  in  the  hall,  he 
asked  if  there  was  any  public-house  near  by. 

"  No,"  I  said ;  "  but  there  is  a  farm-house  a  short 
distance  down  the  road,  where  they  will  be  glad  to 
have  you."  And  down  the  road  he  went  to  Mrs. 
Carson's.  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  he  sold  her  a 
"  Flora  and  Fauna "  before  he  went  to  bed  that 
night. 

We  were  much  amused  at  the  termination  of  this 
affair,  and  I  became,  if  possible,  a  still  greater  ad- 
mirer of  Euphemia's  talents  for  management.  But 
we  both  agreed  that  it  would  not  do  to  keep  up  the 
sign  any  longer.  We  could  not  tell  when  the  irate 
driver  might  not  pounce  down  upon  us  with  a  cus- 
tomer. 

"  But  I  hate  to  take  it  down,"  said  Euphemia ; 
"  it  looks  so  much  like  a  surrender." 

"Do  not  trouble  yourself,"  said  I.  "I  have  an 
idea." 

The  next  morning  I  went  down  to  Danny  Car- 
son's little  shop, — he  was  a  wheelwright  as  well  as  a 
farmer, — and  I  got  from  him  two  pots  of  paint — one 


294  Rudder  Grange. 

black   and  one  white — and  some  brushes.     I    took 
down   our  sign,  and  obliterated  the  old  lettering, 
and,  instead,  I  painted,  in  bold  and  somewhat  regu- 
lar characters,  new  titles  for  our  tavern. 
On  one  side  of  the  sign  I  painted: 

"SOAP-MAKERS' 

AND 

BOOK-BINDERS' 
HOTEL." 

And  on  the  other  side : 

"UPHOLSTERERS' 

AND 

DENTISTS' 
HOUSE." 

"  Now  then,"  I  said,  "  I  don't  believe  any  of  those 
people  will  be  traveling  along  the  road  while  we  are 
here,  or,  at  any  rate,  they  won't  want  to  stop." 

We  admired  this  sign  very  much,  and  sat  on  the 
piazza,  that  afternoon,  to  see  how  it  would  strike 
Bill,  as  he  passed  by.  It  seemed  to  strike  him 
pretty  hard,  for  he  gazed  with  all  his  eyes  at  one 
side  of  it,  as  he  approached,  and  then,  as  he  passed 
it,  he  actually  pulled  up  to  read  the  other  side. 

"  All  right !  "  he  called  out,  as  he  drove  off.  "All 
right !  All  right ! " 

Euphemia  didn't  like  the  way  he  said  "  all  right." 


Rudder  Grange.  295 

It  seemed  to  her,  she  said,  as  if  he  intended  to  do 
something  which  would  be  all  right  for  him,  but  not 
at  all  so  for  us.  I  saw  she  was  nervous  about  it,  for 
that  evening  she  began  to  ask  me  questions  about 
the  traveling  propensities  of  soap-makers,  upholster- 
ers, book-binders,  and  dentists. 

"  Do  not  think  anything  more  about  that,  my 
dear,"  I  said.  "  I  will  take  the  sign  down  in  the 
morning.  We  are  here  to  enjoy  ourselves,  and  not 
to  be  worried." 

"  And  yet,"  said  she,  "  it  would  worry  me  to 
think  that  that  driver  frightened  us  into  taking  down 
the  sign.  I  tell  you  what  I  wish  you  would  do. 
Paint  out  those  names,  and  let  me  make  a  sign. 
Then  I  promise  you  I  will  not  be  worried." 

The  next  day,  therefore,  I  took  down  the  sign  and 
effaced  my  inscriptions.  It  was  a  good  deal  of 
trouble,  for  my  letters  were  fresh,  but  it  was  a  rainy 
day,  and  I  had  plenty  of  time,  and  succeeded  toler- 
ably well.  Then  I  gave  Euphemia  the  black-paint 
pot  and  the  freedom  of  the  sign. 

I  went  down  to  the  creek  to  try  a  little  fishing  in 
wet  weather,  and  when  I  returned  the  new  sign  was 
done.  On  one  side  it  read  : 

"  FLIES' 

AND 
WASPS' 
HOTEL." 


296  Rudder  Grange. 

On  the  other  : 

"HUNDRED  LEGGERS' 

AND 

RED-ANTS' 
HOUSE." 

"You  see,"  said  Euphemia,  "if  any  individuals 
mentioned  thereon  apply  for  accommodation,  we  can 
say  we  are  full." 

This  sign  hung  triumphantly  for  several  days, 
when  one  morning,  just  as  we  had  finished  break- 
fast, we  were  surprised  to  hear  the  stage-coach  stop 
at  the  door,  and  before  we  could  go  out  to  see  who 
had  arrived,  into  the  room  came  our  own  stage- 
driver,  as  we  used  to  call  him.  He  had  actually  left 
his  team  to  come  and  see  us. 

"  I  just  thought  I'd  stop  an'  tell  ye,"  said  he, 
"that  ef  ye  don't  look  out,  Bill  '11  get  ye  inter 
trouble.  He's  bound  to  git  the  best  o'  ye,  an'  I 
heared  this  mornin',  at  Lowry's,  that  he's  agoin'  to 
bring  the  county  clerk  up  here  to-morrow,  to  see 
about  yer  license  fur  keepin'  a  hotel.  He  says  ye 
keep  changin'  yer  signs,  but  that  don't  differ  to  him, 
for  he  kin  prove  ye've  kept  travelers  over-night,  an' 
ef  ye  haven't  got  no  license  he'll  make  the  county 
clerk  come  down  on  ye  heavy,  I'm  sure  o'  that, 
fur  I  know  Bill.  An'  so,  I  thought  I'd  stop  an'  tell 
ye." 

I  thanked   him,   and   admitted   that    this  was  a 


Rudder  Grange.  297 

rather  serious  view  of  the  case.    Euphemia  pondered 
a  moment.     Then  said  she  : 

"  I  don't  see  why  we  should  stay  here  any  longer. 
It's  going  to  rain  again,  and  our  vacation  is  up  to- 
morrow, anyway.  Could  you  wait  a  little  while, 
while  we  pack  up  ?  "  she  said  to  the  driver. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  he  replied.  . "  I  kin  wait,  as  well  as 
not.  I've  only  got  one  passenger,  an'  he's  on  top, 
a-holdin'  the  horses.  He 
ain't  in  any  hurry,  I  know, 
an'  I'm  ahead  o'  timte." 

In  less  than  twenty  min- 
utes we  had  packed  our 
trunk,  locked  up  the  house, 
and  were  in  the  coach,  and, 
as  we  drove  away,  we  cast 
a  last  admiring  look  at  Eu- 
phemia's  sign,  slowly  swinging  in  the  wind.  I  would 
like  much  to  know  if  it  is  swinging  there  yet.  I  feel 
certain  there  has  been  no  lack  of  custom. 

We  stopped  at  Mrs.  Carson's,  paid  her  what  we 
owed  her,  and  engaged  her  to  go  up  to  the  tavern 
and  put  things  in  order.  She  was  very  sorry  we 
were  going,  but  hoped  we  would  come  back  again 
some  other  summer.  We  said  that  it  was  quite 
possible  that  we  might  do  so  ;  but  that,  next  time, 
we  did  not  think  we  would  try  to  have  a  tavern  of 
our  own. 


13* 


CHAPTER   XIX. 
The  Baby  at  Rudder  Grange. 


OR  some  reason,  not  altogether  under- 
stood by  me,  there  seemed  to  be  a 
continued  series  of  new  developments 
at  our  home.  I  had  supposed,  when 
the  events  spoken  of  in  the  last  chap- 
ter had  settled  down  to  their  proper  places  in  our 
little  history,  that  our  life  would  flow  on  in  an  even, 
commonplace  way,  with  few  or  no  incidents  worthy 
of  being  recorded.  But  this  did  not  prove  to  be  the 
case.  After  a  time,  the  uniformity  and  quiet  of  our 
existence  was  considerably  disturbed. 

This  disturbance  was  caused  by  a  baby,  not  a 
rude,  imperious  baby,  but  a  child  who  was  generally 
of  a  quiet  and  orderly  turn  of  mind.  But  it  disar- 


Rudder  Grange.  299 

ranged  all  our  plans;  all  our  habits;  all  the  ordinary 
disposition  of  things. 

It  was  in  the  summer-time,  during  my  vacation, 
that  it  began  to  exert  its  influence  upon  us.  A 
more  unfortunate  season  could  not  have  been  se- 
lected. Earlier,  I  may  say  that  it  did  not  exert  its 
full  influence  upon  me.  I  was  away,  during  the 
day,  and,  in  the  evening,  its  influence  was  not  ex- 
erted, to  any  great  extent,  upon  anybody.  As  I 
have  said,  its  habits  were  exceedingly  orderly. 
But,  during  my  vacation,  the  things  came  to  pass 
which  have  made  this  chapter  necessary. 

I  did  not  intend  taking  a  trip.  As  in  a  former 
vacation,  I  proposed  staying  at  home  and  enjoying 
those  delights  of  the  country  which  my  business  in 
town  did  not  allow  me  to  enjoy  in  the  working 
weeks  and  months  of  the  year.  I  had  no  intention 
of  camping  out,  or  of  doing  anything  of  that  kind, 
but  many  were  the  drives  and  excursions  I  had 
planned. 

I  found,  however,  that  if  I  enjoyed  myself  in  this 
wise,  I  must  do  it,  for  the  most  part,  alone.  It  was 
not  that  Euphemia  could  not  go  with  me — there 
was  really  nothing  to  prevent— it  was  simply  that 
she  had  lost,  for  the  time,  her  interest  in  everything 
except  that  baby. 

She  wanted  me  to  be  happy,  to  amuse  myself,  to 
take  exercise,  to  do  whatever  I  thought  was  pleasant, 
but  she,  herself,  was  so  much  engrossed  with  the 


300  Rudder  Grange. 

child,  that  she  was  often  ignorant  of  what  I  intended 
to  do,  or  had  done.  She  thought  she  was  listening 
to  what  I  said  to  her,  but,  in  reality,  she  was  occu- 
pied, mind  and  body,  with  the  baby,  or  listening 
for  some  sound  which  should  indicate  that  she  ought 
to  go  and  be  occupied  with  it. 

I  would  often  say  to  her:  "Why  can't  you  let 
Pomona  attend  to  it  ?  You  surely  need  not  give 
up  your  whole  time  and  your  whole  mind  to  the 
child." 

But  she  would  always  answer  that  Pomona  had 
a  great  many  things  to  do,  and  that  she  could  not  at 
all  times,  attend  to  the  baby.  Suppose,  for  instance, 
that  she  should  be  at  the  barn. 

I  once  suggested  that  a  nurse  should  be  procured, 
but  at  this  she  laughed. 

"There  is  very  little  to  do,"  she  said,  "and  I 
really  like  to  do  it." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  but  you  spend  so  much  of  your 
time  in  thinking  how  glad  you  will  be  to  do  that 
little,  when  it  is  to  be  done,  that  you  can't  give  me 
any  attention,  at  all." 

"  Now,  you  have  no  cause  to  say  that,"  she  ex- 
claimed. "  You  know  very  well ,  there  !  "  and 

away  she  ran.  It  had  just  begun  to  cry  ! 

Naturally,  I  was  getting  tired  of  this.  I  could 
never  begin  a  sentence  and  feel  sure  that  I  would  be 
allowed  to  finish  it.  Nothing  was  important  enough 
to  delay  attention  to  an  infantile  whimper. 


Rudder  Grange.  301 

Jonas,  too,  was  in  a  state  of  unrest.  He  was 
obliged  to  wear  his  best  clothes,  a  great  part  of  the 
time,  for  he  was  continually  going  on  errands  to  the 
village,  and  these  errands  were  so  important  that 
they  took  precedence  of  everything  else.  It  gave 
me  a  melancholy  sort  of  pleasure,  sometimes,  to  do 
Jonas's  work  when  he  was  thus  sent  away. 

I  asked  him,  one  day,  how  he  liked  it  all  ? 

"  Well,"  said  he,  reflectively,  "  I  can't  say  as  I 
understand  it,  exactly.  It  does  seem  queer  to  me 
that  such  a  little  thing  should  take  up  pretty  nigh 
all  the  time  of  three  people.  I  suppose,  after  a 
while,"  this  he  said  with  a  grave  smile,  "  that  you 
may  be  wanting  to  turn  in  and  help."  I  did  not 
make  any  answer  to  this,  for  Jonas  was,  at  that 
moment,  summoned  to  the  house,  but  it  gave  me  an 
idea.  In  fact,  it  gave  me  two  ideas. 

The  first  was  that  Jonas's  remark  was  not  entirely 
respectful.  He  was  my  hired  man,  but  he  was  a 
very  respectable  man,  and  an  American  man,  and 
therefore  might  sometimes  be  expected  to  say 
things  which  a  foreigner,  not  known  to  be  respect- 
able, would  not  think  of  saying,  if  he  wished  to 
keep  his  place.  The  fact  that  Jonas  had  always 
been  very  careful  to  treat  me  with  much  civility, 
caused  this  remark  to  make  more  impression  on  me. 
I  felt  that  he  had,  in  a  measure,  reason  for  it. 

The  other  idea  was  one  which  grew  and  devel- 
oped in  my  mind  until  I  afterward  formed  a  plan 


302  Rudder  Grange. 

upon  it.  I  determined,  however,  before  I  carried 
out  my  plan,  to  again  try  to  reason  with  Euphemia. 

"If  it  was  our  own  baby,"  I  said,  "or  even  the 
child  of  one  of  us,  by  a  former  marriage,  it  would 
be  a  different  thing ;  but  to  give  yourself  up  so  en- 
tirely to  Pomona's  baby,  seems,  to  me,  unreasonable. 
Indeed,  I  never  heard  of  any  case  exactly  like  it. 
It  is  reversing  all  the  usages  of  society  for  the  mis- 
tress to  take  care  of  the  servant's  baby." 

"  The  usages  of  society  are  not  worth  much,  some- 
times," said  Euphemia,  "  and  you  must  remember 
that  Pomona  is  a  very  different  kind  of  a  person 
from  an  ordinary  servant.  She  is  much  more  like 
a  member  of  the  family — I  can't  exactly  explain 
what  kind  of  a  member,  but  I  understand  it  myself. 
S&e  has  very  much  improved  since  she  has  been 
married,  and  you  know,  yourself,  how  quiet  and — 
and,  nice  she  is,  and  as  for  the  baby,  it's  just  as 
good  and  pretty  as  any  baby,  and  it  may  grow  up 
to  be  better  than  any  of  us.  Some  of  our  presidents 
have  sprung  from  lowly  parents." 

"  But  this  one  is  a  girl,"  I  said. 

"Well,  then,"  replied  Euphemia,  "  she  may  be  a 
president's  wife." 

"  Another  thing,"  I  remarked,  "  I  don't  believe 
Jonas  and  Pomona  like  your  keeping  their  baby  so 
much  to  yourself." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  Euphemia,  "  a  girl  in  Pomona's 
position  couldn't  help  being  glad  to  have  a  lady  take 


Rudder  Grange.  303 

an  interest  in  her  baby,  and  help  bring  it  up.  And 
as  for  Jonas,  he  would  be  a  cruel  man  if  he  wasn't 
pleased  and  grateful  to  have  his  wife  relieved  of  so 
much  trouble.  Pomona !  Is  that  you  ?  You  can 
bring  it  here,  now,  if  you  want  to  get  at  your  clear- 
starching." 

I  don't  believe  that  Pomona  hankered  after  clear- 
starching, but  she  brought  the  baby  and  I  went 
away.  I  could  not  see  any  hope  ahead.  Of  course, 
in  time,  it  would  grow  up,  but  then  it  could  not 
grow  up  during  my  vacation. 

Then  it  was  that  I  determined  to  carry  out  my 
plan. 

I  went  to  the  stable  and  harnessed  the  horse  to 
the  little  carnage.  Jonas  was  not  there,  and  I  had 
fallen  out  of  the  habit  of  calling  him.  I  drove 
slowly  through  the  yard  and  out  of  the  gate.  No 
one  called  to  me  or  asked  where  I  was  going.  How 
different  this  was  from  the  old  times  !  Then,  some 
one  would  not  have  failed  to  know  where  I  was 
going,  and,  in  all  probability,  she  would  have  gone 
with  me.  But  now  I  drove  away,  quietly  and  un- 
disturbed. 

About  three  miles  from  our  house  was  a  settle- 
ment known  as  New  Dublin.  It  was  a  cluster  of 
poor  and  doleful  houses,  inhabited  entirely  by  Irish 
people,  whose  dirt  and  poverty  seemed  to  make 
them  very  contented  and  happy.  The  men  were 
generally  away,  at  their  work,  during  the  day,  but 


304  Rudder  Grange. 

there  was  never  any  difficulty  in  finding  some  one 
at  home,  no  matter  at  what  house  one  called.  I 
was  acquainted  with  one  of  the  matrons  of  this 
locality,  a  Mrs.  Duffy,  who  had  occasionally  under- 
taken some  odd  jobs  at  our  house,  and  to  her  I 
made  a  visit. 

She  was  glad  to  see  me,  and  wiped  off  a  chair  for 
me. 

"  Mrs.  Duffy,"  said  I,  "  I  want  to  hire  a  baby." 

At  first,  the  good  woman  could  not  understand 
me,  but  when  I  made  plain  to  her  that  I  wished  for 
a  short  time,  to  obtain  the  exclusive  use  and  con- 
trol of  a  baby,  for  which  I  was  willing  to  pay  a 
liberal  rental,  she  burst  into  long  and  violent 
laughter.  It  seemed  to  her  like  a  person  coming 
into  the  country  to  purchase  weeds.  Weeds  and 
children  were  so  abundant  in  New  Dublin.  But  she 
gradually  began  to  see  that  I  was  in  earnest,  and  as 
she  knew  I  was  a  trusty  person,  and  somewhat  noted 
for  the  care  I  took  of  my  live  stock,  she  was 
perfectly  willing  to  accommodate  me,  but  feared  she 
had  nothing  on  hand  of  the  age  I  desired. 

"  Me  childther  are  all  agoin'  about,"  she  said. 
"Ye  kin  see  a  poile  uv  'em  out  yon,  in  the  road, 
an*  there's  more  uv  'em  on  the  fince.  But  ye  nade 
have  no  fear  about  gittin'  wan.  There's  sthacks  of 
'em  in  the  place.  I'll  jist  run  over  to  Mrs.  Hogan's, 
wid  ye.  She's  got  sixteen  or  siventeen,  mostly 
small,  for  Hogan  brought  four  or  five  wid  him  when 


Riidder  Grange.  305 

he  married  her,  an*  she'll  be  glad  to  rint  out  wan  uv 
'em."  So,  throwing  her  apron  over  head,  she  ac- 
companied me  to  Mrs.  Hogan's. 

That  lady  was  washing,  but  she  cheerfully  stopped 
her  work  while  Mrs.  Duffy  took  ner  to  one  side 
and  explained  my  errand.  Mrs.  Hogan  did  not 
appear  to  be  able  to  understand  why  I  wanted  a 
baby — especially  for  so  limited  a  period, — but  proba- 
bly concluded  that  if  I  would  take  good  care  of  it 
and  would  pay  well  for  it,  the  matter  was  my  own 
affair,  for  she  soon  came  and  said,  that  if  I  wanted 
a  baby,  I  had  come  to  the  right  place.  Then  she 
began  to  consider  what  one  she  would  let  me  have. 
I  insisted  on  a  young  one — there  was  already  a  lit- 
tle baby  at  our  house,  and  the  folks  there  would 
know  how  to  manage  it. 

"  Oh,  ye  want  it  fer  coompany  for  the  ither  one, 
is  that  it  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Hogan,  a  new  light  breaking 
in  upon  her.  "An'  that's  a  good  plan,  sure.  It 
must  be  dridful  lownly  in  a  house  wid  only  wan 
baby.  Now  there's  one — Polly — would  she  do?" 

"  Why,  she  can  run,"  I  said.  "  I  don't  want  one 
that  can  run." 

"  Oh,  dear !  "  said  Mrs.  Hogan,  with  a  sigh,  "  they 
all  begin  to  run,  very  airly.  Now  Polly  isn't  owld, 
at  all,  at  all." 

"  I  can  see  that,"  said  I,  "  but  I  want  one  that 
you  can  put  in  a  cradle — one  that  will  have  to  stay 
there,  when  you  put  it  in." 


306  Rudder  Grange. 

It  was  plain  that  Mrs.  Hogan's  present  stock  did 
not  contain  exactly  what  I  wanted,  and  presently 
Mrs.  Duffy  exclaimed  :  "  There's  Mary  McCann— 
an'  roight  across  the  way ! " 

Mrs.  Hogan  said:  "  Yis,  sure,"  and  we  all  went 
over  to  a  little  house,  opposite. 

"  Now,  thin,"  said  Mrs.  Duffy,  entering  the  house, 
and  proudly  drawing  a  small  coverlid  from  a  little 
box-bed  in  a  corner,  "  what  do  you  think  of  that  ?  " 

"Why,  there  are  two  of  them,"  I  exclaimed. 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Duffy.  "  They're  tweens. 
There's  always  two  uv  'em,  when  they're  tweens. 
An'  they're  young  enough." 

"Yes,"  said  I,  doubtfully,  "but  I  couldn't  take 
both.  Do  you  think  their  mother  would  hire  one 
of  them?" 

The  women  shook  their  heads.  "  Ye  see,  sir," 
said  Mrs.  Hogan,  "  Mary  McCann  isn't  here,  bein' 
gone  out  to  a  wash,  but  she  ownly  has  four  or  foive 
childther,  an'  she  aint  much  used  to  'em  yit,  an'  I 
kin  spake  fer  her  that  she'd  niver  siparate  a  pair  o' 
tweens.  When  she  gits  a  dozen  hersilf,  and  mar- 
ries a  widow  jintleman  wid  a  lot  uv  his  own,  she'll 
be  glad  enough  to  be  lettin'  ye  have  yer  pick,  to 
take  wan  uv  'em  fer  coompany  to  yer  own  baby,  at 
foive  dollars  a  week.  Moind  that." 

I  visited  several  houses  after  this,  still  in  company 
with  Mrs.  Hogan  and  Mrs.  Duffy,  and  finally  secured 
a  youngish  infant,  who,  having  been  left  motherless, 


Riidder  Grange.  309 

had  become  what  Mrs.  Duffy  called  a  "  bottle- 
baby,"  and  was  in  charge  of  a  neighboring  aunt. 
It  seemed  strange  that  this  child,  so  eminently 
adapted  to  purposes  of  rental,  was  not  offered  to 
me,  at  first,  but  I  suppose  the  Irish  ladies,  who  had 
the  matter  in  charge,  wanted  to  benefit  themselves, 
or  some  of  their  near  friends,  before  giving  the  gen- 
eral public  of  New  Dublin  a  chance. 

The  child  suited  me  very  well,  and  I  agreed  to 
take  it  for  as  many  days  as  I  might  happen  to  want 
it,  but  to  pay  by  the  week,  in  advance.  It  was  a 
boy,  with  a  suggestion  of  orange-red  bloom  all  over 
its  head,  and  what  looked,  to  me,  like  freckles  on  its 
cheeks ;  while  its  little  nose  turned  up — even  more 
than  those  of  babies  generally  turn — above  a  very 
long  upper  lip.  His  eyes  were  blue  and  twinkling, 
and  he  had  the  very  mouth  "  fer  a  leetle  poipe,"  as 
Mrs.  Hogan  admiringly  remarked. 

He  was  hastily  prepared  for  his  trip,  and  when  I 
had  arranged  the  necessary  business  matters  with 
his  aunt,  and  had  assured  her  that  she  could  come 
to  see  him  whenever  she  liked,  I  got  into  the  car- 
riage, and  having  spread  the  lap-robe  over  my  knees, 
the  baby,  carefully  wrapped  in  a  little  shawl,  was 
laid  in  my  lap.  Then  his  bottle,  freshly  filled,  for 
he  might  need  a  drink  on  the  way,  was  tucked  be- 
tween the  cushions  on  the  seat  beside  me,  and  taking 
the  reins  in  my  left  hand,  while  I  steadied  my 
charge  with  the  other,  I  prepared  to  drive  away. 


310  Rudder  Grange. 

"What's  his  name  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  It's  Pat,"  said  his  aunt,  "  afther  his  dad,  who's 
away  in  the  moines." 

"But  ye  kin  call  him  onything  ye  loike,"  Mrs. 
Duffy  remarked,  "  fer  he  don't  ansther  to  his  name 
yit." 

"  Pat  will  do  very  well,"  I  said,  as  I  bade  the 
good  women  farewell,  and  carefully  guided  the 
horse  through  the  swarm  of  youngsters  who  had 
gathered  around  the  carriage. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

The  Other  Baby  at  Rudder  Grange. 


DROVE  slowly  home,  and  little  Pat 
lay  very  quiet,  looking  up  steadily  at 
me  with  his  twinkling  blue  eyes.  For 
a  time,  everything  went  very  well,  but 
happening  to  look  up,  I  saw  in  the  distance  a  car- 
riage approaching.  It  was  an  open  barouche,  and 
I  knew  it  belonged  to  a  family  of  our  acquaintance, 
in  the  village,  and  that  it  usually  contained  ladies. 

Quick  as  thought,  I  rolled  up  Pat  in  his  shawl  and 
stuffed  him  under  the  seat.  Then  rearranging  the 
lap-robe  over  my  knees,  I  drove  on  trembling  a  little, 
it  is  true. 

As  I  supposed,  the  carriage  contained  ladies,  and 
I  knew  them  all.  The  coachman  instinctively  drew 
up,  as  we  approached.  We  always  stopped  and 
spoke,  on  such  occasions. 


3i2  Rudder  Grange. 

They  asked  me  after  my  wife,  apparently  surprised 
to  see  me  alone,  and  made  a  number  of  pleasant  ob- 
servations, to  all  of  which  I  replied  with  as  uncon- 
cerned and  easy  an  air  as  I  could  assume.  The 
ladies  were  in  excellent  spirits,  but  in  spite  of  this, 
there  seemed  to  be  an  air  of  repression  about  them, 
which  I  thought  of  when  I  drove  on,  but  could  not 
account  for,  for  little  Pat  never  moved  or  whimpered, 
during  the  whole  of  the  interview. 

But  when  I  took  him  again  in  my  lap,  and  hap- 
pened to  turn,  as  I  arranged  the  robe,  I  saw  his  bot- 
tle sticking  up  boldly  by  my  side  from  between  the 
cushions.  Then  I  did  not  wonder  at  the  repression. 

When  I  reached  home,  I  drove  directly  to  the  barn. 
Fortunately,  Jonas  was  there.  When  I  called  him 
and  handed  little  Pat  to  him  I  never  saw  a  man  more 
utterly  amazed.  He  stood,  and  held  the  child  with- 
out a  word.  But  when  I  explained  the  whole  affair 
to  him,  he  comprehended  it  perfectly,  and  was  de- 
lighted. I  think  he  was  just  as  anxious  for  my  plan 
to  work  as  I  was  myself,  although  he  did  not  say  so. 

I  was  about  to  take  the  child  into  the  house,  when 
Jonas  remarked  that  it  was  barefooted. 

"  That  won't  do/'  I  said.  "  It  certainly  had  socks 
on,  when  I  got  it.  I  saw  them." 

"  Here  they  are,"  said  Jonas,  fishing  them  out 
from  the  shawl.  "  He's  kicked  them  off." 

"  Well,  we  must  put  them  on,"  I  said,  "  it  won't 
do  to  take  him  in,  that  way.  You  hold  him." 


Rudder  Grunge.  313 

So  Jonas  sat  down  on  the  feed-box,  and  carefully 
taking  little  Pat,  he  held  him  horizontally,  firmly 
pressed  between  his  hands  and  knees,  with  his  feet 
stuck  out  toward  me,  while  I  knelt  down  before  him 
and  tried  to  put  on  the  little  socks.  But  the  socks 
were  knit  very  loosely,  and  there  seemed  to  be  a 
good  many  small  holes  in  them,  so  that  Pat's  funny 
little  toes,  which  he  kept  curling  up  and  uncurling, 
were  continually  making  their  appearance  in  unex- 
pected places  through  the  sock.  But,  after  a  great 
deal  of  trouble,  I  got  them  both  on,  with  the  heels 
at  about  the  right  places. 

"  Now  they  ought  to  be  tied  on,"  I  said.  "  Where 
are  his  garters  ?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  babies  have  garters,"  said  Jonas, 
doubtfully,  "  but  I  could  rig  him  up  a  pair." 

u  No,"  said  I  ;  "we  won't  take  the  time  for  that. 
I'll  hold  his  legs  apart,  as  I  carry  him  in.  It's  rub- 
bing his  feet  together  that  gets  them  off." 

As  I  passed  the  kitchen  window  I  saw  Pomona  at 
work.  She  looked  at  me,  dropped  something,  and 
I  heard  a  crash.  I  don't  know  how  much  that  crash 
cost  me.  Jonas  rushed  in  to  tell  Pomona  about  it, 
and  in  a  moment  I  heard  a  scream  of  laughter.  At 
this,  Euphemia  appeared  at  an  upper  window,  with 
her  hand  raised  and  saying,  severely :  "  Hush-h  !  " 
But  the  moment  she  saw  me,  she  disappeared  from 
the  window  and  came  down-stairs  on  the  run.  She 

met  me,  just  as  I  entered  the  dining-room. 
14 


314  Rudder  Grange. 

"  What  in  the  world ! "  she  breathlessly  ex- 
claimed. 

"  This,"  said  I,  taking  Pat  into  a  better  position 
in  my  arms,  "  is  my  baby." 

"  Your — baby  ! "  said  Euphemia.  "  Where  did 
you  get  it  ?  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  I  got  it  in  New  Dublin,"  I  replied,  "  and  I  want 
it  to  amuse  and  occupy  me  while  I  am  at  home.  I 
haven't  anything  else  to  do,  except  things  that  take 
me  away  from  you." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Euphemia. 

At  this  moment,  little  Pat  gave  his  first  whimper. 
Perhaps  he  felt  the  searching  glance  that  fell  upon 
him  from  the  lady  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

I  immediately  began  to  walk  up  and  down  the 
floor  with  him,  and  to  sing  to  him.  I  did  not  know 
any  infant  music,  but  I  felt  sure  that  a  soothing 
tune  was  the  great  requisite,  and  that  the  words 
were  of  small  importance.  So  I  started  on  an 
old  Methodist  tune,  which  I  remembered  very  well, 
and  which  was  used  with  the  hymn  containing  the 
lines : 

"  Weak  and  wounded,  sick  and  sore," 

and  I  sang,  as  soothingly  as  I  could  : 

"  Lit-tle  Pat-sy,  Wat-sy,  Sat-sy, 
Does  he  feel  a  lit-ty  bad  ? 
Me  will  send  and  get  his  bot-tle 
He  sha'n't  have  to  cry-wy-wy." 


Rudder  Grange.  315 

"  What  an  idiot ! "  said  Euphemia,  laughing  in 
spite  of  her  vexation. 

"  No,  we  aint  no  id-i-otses 
What  we  want's  a  bot-ty  milk." 

So  I  sang  as  I  walked  to  the  kitchen  door,  and  sent 
Jonas  to  the  barn  for  the  bottle. 

Pomona  was  in  spasms  of  laughter  in  the  kitchen, 
and  Euphemia  was  trying  her  best  not  to  laugh  at 
all. 

"  Who's  going  to  take  care  of  it,  I'd  like  to 
know  ?  "  she  said,  as  soon  as  she  could  get  herself 
into  a  state  of  severe  inquiry. 

"  Some-times  me,  and  some-times  Jonas," 

I  sang,  still  walking  up  and  down  the  room  with  a 
long,  slow  step,  swinging  the  baby  from  side  to  side, 
very  much  as  if  it  were  grass-seed  in  a  sieve,  and  I 
were  sowing  it  over  the  carpet. 

When  the  bottle  came,  I  took  it,  and  began  to 
feed  little  Pat.  Perhaps  the  presence  of  a  critical 
and  interested  audience  embarrassed  me,  for  Jonas 
and  Pomona  were  at  the  door,  with  streaming  eyes, 
while  Euphemia  stood  with  her  handkerchief  to  the 
lower  part  of  her  face ;  or  it  may  have  been  that  I 
did  not  understand  the  management  of  bottles,  but, 
at  any  rate,  I  could  not  make  the  thing  work,  and 
the  disappointed  little  Pat  began  to  cry,  just  as  the 


316  Rudder  Grange. 

whole  of  our  audience  burst  into  a  wild  roar  of 
laughter. 

"Here!  Give  me  that  child!"  cried  Euphemia, 
forcibly  taking  Pat  and  the  bottle  from  me.  "  You'll 
make  it  swallow  the  whole  affair,  and  I'm  sure  its 
mouth's  big  enough." 

11  You  really  don't  think,"  she  said,  when  we  were 
alone,  and  little  Pat,  with  his  upturned  blue  eyes 
serenely  surveying  the  features  of  the  good  lady 
who  knew  how  to  feed  him,  was  placidly  pulling 
away  at  his  India-rubber  tube,  "  that  I  will  consent 
to  your  keeping  such  a  creature  as  this  in  the  house? 
Why,  he's  a  regular  little  Paddy !  If  you  kept  him 
he'd  grow  up  into  a  hod-carrier." 

"  Good ! "  said  I.  "  I  never  thought  of  that. 
What  a  novel  thing  it  would  be  to  witness  the 
gradual  growth  of  a  hod-carrier !  I'll  make  him  a 
little  hod,  now,  to  begin  with.  He  couldn't  have  a 
more  suitable  toy." 

"  I  was  talking  in  earnest,"  she  said.  "  Take  your 
baby,  and  please  carry  him  home  as  quick  as  you 
can,  for  I  am  certainly  not  going  to  take  care  of 
him.' 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  I.  "  Now  that  I  see  how 
it's  done,  I'm  going  to  do  it  myself.  Jonas  will  mix 
his  feed  and  I  will  give  it  to  him.  He  looks  sleepy 
now.  Shall  I  take  him  upstairs  and  lay  him  on  our 
bed?" 

"No,  indeed,"  cried   Euphemia.     "You  can  put 


Rudder   Grange.  317 

him  on  a  quilt  on  the  floor,  until  after  luncheon, 
and  then  you  must  take  him  home." 

I  laid  the  young  Milesian  on  the  folded  quilt 
which  Euphemia  prepared  for  him,  where  he  turned 
up  his  little  pug  nose  to  the  ceiling  and  went  con- 
tentedly to  sleep. 

That  afternoon  I  nailed  four  legs  on  a  small  pack- 
ing-box and  made  a  bedstead  for  him.  This,  with  a 
pillow  in  the  bottom  of  it,  was  very  comfortable, 
and  instead  of  taking  him  home,  I  borrowed,  in  the 
evening,  some  baby  night-clothes  from  Pomona, 
and  set  about  preparing  Pat  for  the  night. 

This  Euphemia  would  not  allow,  but  silently  tak- 
ing him  from  me,  she  put  him  to  bed. 

"  To-morrow,"  she  said,  "  you  must  positively 
take  him  away.  I  won't  stand  it.  And  in  our 
room,  too." 

"  I  didn't  talk  in  that  way  about  the  baby  you 
adopted,"  I  said. 

To  this  she  made  no  answer,  but  went  away  to 
attend,  as  usual,  to  Pomona's  baby,  while  its  mother 
washed  the  dishes. 

That  night  little  Pat  woke  up,  several  times,  and 
made  things  unpleasant  by  his  wails.  On  the  first 
two  occasions,  I  got  up  and  walked  him  about, 
singing  impromptu  lines  to  the  tune  of  "  weak  and 
wounded,"  but  the  third  time,  Euphemia  herself 
arose,  and  declaring  that  that  doleful  tune  was  a 
great  deal  worse  than  the  baby's  crying,  silenced 


318  Rudder  Grange. 

him  herself,  and  arranging  his  couch  more  comfort- 
ably, he  troubled  us  no  more. 

In  the  morning,  when  I  beheld  the  little  pad  of 
orange  fur  in  the  box,  my  heart  almost  misgave  me, 
but  as  the  day  wore  on,  my  courage  rose  again,  and 
I  gave  myself  up,  almost  entirely,  to  my  new 
charge,  composing  a  vast  deal  of  blank  verse,  while 
walking  him  up  and  down  the  house. 

Euphemia  scolded  and  scolded/  and  said  she 
would  put  on  her  hat  and  go  for  the  mother.  But 
I  told  her  the  mother  was  dead,  and  that  seemed  to 
be  an  obstacle.  She  took  a  good  deal  of  care  of 
the  child,  for  she  said  she  would  not  see  an  innocent 
creature  neglected,  even  if  it  was  an  incipient  hod- 
carrier,  but  she  did  not  relax  in  the  least  in  her  at- 
tention to  Pomona's  baby. 

The  next  day  was  about  the  same,  in  regard  to 
infantile  incident,  but,  on  the  day  after,  I  began  to 
tire  of  my  new  charge,  and  Pat,  on  his  side,  seemed 
to  be  tired  of  me,  for  he  turned  from  me  when  I 
went  to  take  him  up,  while  he  would  hold  out  his 
hands  to  Euphemia,  and  grin  delightedly  when  she 
took  him. 

That  morning  I  drove  to  the  village  and  spent  an 
hour  or  two  there.  On  my  return  I  found  Euphe- 
mia sitting  in  our  room,  with  little  Pat  on  her  lap. 
I  was  astonished  at  the  change  in  the  young  rascal. 
He  was  dressed,  from  head  to  foot,  in  a  suit  of 
clothes  belonging  to  Pomona's  baby ;  the  glowing 


Rudder  Grange. 


fuzz  on  his  head  was  brushed  and  made  as  smooth 
as  possible,  while  his  little  muslin  sleeves  were  tied 
up  with  blue  ribbon. 

I  stood  speechless  at  the  sight. 

"  Don't  he  look  nice  ?  "  said  Euphemia,  standing 
him  up  on  her  knees.  "  It  shows  what  good  clothes 
will  do.  I'm  glad 
I  helped  Pomona 
make  up  so  many. 
He's  getting  ever 
so  fond  of  me,  ze 
itty  Patzy,  watsy  ! 
See  how  strong 
he  is  !  He  can  al- 
most stand  on  his 
legs  !  Look  how 
he  laughs !  He's  just  as  cunning  as  can  be.  And 
oh !  I  was  going  to  speak  about  that  box.  I 
wouldn't  have  him  sleep  in  that  old  packing-box. 
There  are  little  wicker  cradles  at  the  store — I  saw 
them  last  week — they  don't  cost  much,  and  you 
could  bring  one  up  in  the  carriage.  There's  the 
other  baby,  crying,  and  I  don't  know  where  Po- 
mona is.  Just  you  mind  him  a  minute,  please  ! " 
and  out  she  ran. 

I  looked  out  of  the  window.  The  horse  still 
stood  harnessed  to  the  carriage,  as  I  had  left  him. 
I  saw  Pat's  old  shawl  lying  in  a  corner.  I  seized  it, 
and  rolling  him  in  it,  new  clothes  and  all,  I  hurried 


320  Rudder  Grange. 

down-stairs,  climbed  into  the  carriage,  hastily  dis- 
posed Pat  in  my  lap,  and  turned  the  horse.  The 
demeanor  of  the  youngster  was  very  different  from 
what  it  was  when  I  first  took  him  in  my  lap  to 
drive  away  with  him.  There  was  no  confiding 
twinkle  in  his  eye,  no  contented  munching  of  his 
little  fists.  He  gazed  up  at  me  with  wild  alarm, 
and  as  I  drove  out  of  the  gate,  he  burst  forth  into 
such  a  yell  that  Lord  Edward  came  bounding 
around  the  house  to  see  what  was  the  matter.  Eu- 
phemia  suddenly  appeared  at  an  upper  window  and 
called  out  to  me,  but  I  did  not  hear  what  she  said. 
I  whipped  up  the  horse  and  we  sped  along  to  New 
Dublin.  Pat  soon  stopped  crying,  but  he  looked 
at  me  with  a  tear-stained  and  reproachful  visage. 

The  good  women  of  the  settlement  were  surprised 
to  see  little  Pat  return  so  soon. 

"  An'  wasn't  he  good  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Hogan  as  she 
took  him  from  my  hands. 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  I  said.  "  He  was  as  good  as  he 
could  be.  But  I  ha^ve  no  further  need  of  him." 

I  might  have  been  called  upon  to  explain  this 
statement,  had  not  the  whole  party  of  women,  who 
stood  around,  burst  into  wild  expressions  of  delight 
at  Pat's  beautiful  clothes. 

"  Oh !  jist  look  at  'em  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Duffy.  "An* 
see  thim  leetle  pittycoots,  thrimmed  wid  lace  !  Oh, 
an'  it  was  good  in  ye,  sir,  to  give  him  all  thim,  an' 
pay  the  foive  dollars,  too." 


Rudder  Grange.  321 

"An'  I'm  glad  he's  back,"  said  the  fostering  aunt, 
"  for  I  was  a-coomin'  over  to  till  ye  that  I've  been 
hearin'  from  owle  Pat,  his  dad,  an'  he's  a  coomin' 
back  from  the  moines,  and  I  don't  know  what  he'd 
a'  said  if  he'd  found  his  leetle  Pat  was  rinted.  But 
if  ye  iver  want  to  borry  him,  for  a  whoile,  after  owle 
Pat's  gone  back,  ye  kin  have  him,  rint-free  ;  an'  its 
much  obloiged  I  am  to  ye,  sir,  fur  dressin'  him  so 
foine." 

I  made  no  encouraging  remarks  as  to  future  trans- 
actions in  this  line,  and  drove  slowly  home. 

Euphemia  met  me  at  the  door.  She  had  Po- 
mona's baby  in  her  arms.  We  walked  together  into 
the  parlor. 

"  And  so  you  have  given  up  the  little  fellow  that 
you  were  going  to  do  so  much  for  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Yes,  I  have  given  him  up,"  I  answered. 

"  It  must  have  been  a  dreadful  trial  to  you,"  she 
continued. 

"  Oh,  dreadful,"  I  replied. 

"  I  suppose  you  thought  he  would  take  up  so 
much  of  your  time  and  thoughts,  that  we  couldn't 
be  to  each  other  what  we  used  to  be,  didn't  you  ?  " 
she  said. 

"  Not  exactly,"  I  replied.  "  I  only  thought  that 
things  promised  to  be  twice  as  bad  as  they  were 
before." 

She   made   no   answer  to  this,  but  going  to  the 

back  door  of  the  parlor  she  opened  it  and  called  Po- 
14* 


322 


Rudder  Grange. 


mona.  When  that  young  woman  appeared,  Euphe- 
mia  stepped  toward  her  and  said  :  "  Here,  Pomona, 
take  your  baby." 

They  were  simple  words,  but  they  were  spoken  in 
such  a  way  that  they  meant  a  good  deal.  Pomona 
knew  what  they  meant.  Her  eyes  sparkled,  and  as 
she  went  out,  I  saw  her  hug  her  child  to  her  breast, 
and  cover  it  with  kisses,  and  then  through  the  win- 
dow, I  could  see  her  running  to  the  barn  and  Jonas. 

"  Now,  then,"  said  Euphemia,  closing  the  door 
and  coming  toward  me,  with  one  of  her  old  smiles, 
and  not  a  trace  of  preoccupation  about  her,  "  I 
suppose  you  expect  me  to  devote  myself  to  you." 

I  did  expect  it,  and  I  was  not  mistaken. 


.    v 


\ 


THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SANTA  CRUZ 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  DATE  stamped  below. 


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